I Need A New Drug
by Flagg1991
Summary: After coming to the realization that her life is boring and predictable, Lisa Loud injects herself with an untested drug meant to stimulate hormone production...then begins to experience strange emotions, many of them centered around her older brother. Lisacoln. Rated T for sexually suggestive themes and language. Cover by Raganoxer
1. A Little Excitement

**Shortly after I began writing Loudcest, I decided to do at least one Lincoln ship for every sister (excluding Lily). Lisa is the last sister I've yet to do. This story was written months ago, I just haven't gotten around to posting it until now. Hope you enjoy.**

 **P.S. The title is a reference to a Huey Lewis song...because I honestly couldn't think of anything better.**

* * *

It started, indirectly, on September 8, the day Lisa Loud accepted, with slight reluctance, a contract from the Pentagon to develop a human growth chemical for use on American servicemen. The brass wanted something to improve stamina and endurance, promote faster healing, and boost immune systems, not, as one might fancy, to create 'super soldiers.' Which, if she was honest, Lisa found disappointing - she rather liked the thought of altering someone's DNA to the point they become an unstoppable killing machine. _That_ , unlike this gentle PC 'growth hormone' nonsense, would be a challenge, and Lisa was ready for a challenge; she was quite tired of playing in the sandbox of mediocrity, filling test tubes and dumping them into other test tubes, moving petri dishes from this table to that, pushing pencils across her desk. She was _itching_ for excitement, but none seemed forthcoming, so she went about creating Uncle Sam his glorified booster shot and sighing in boredom.

It took her a week of work - if _work_ it can be called. On September 15, she filled a syringe with _Zyclandizo_ (a name she picked for its utter meaninglessness - hahaha) and carried it over to the plastic cage where she kept a dozen white lab mice for just such occasions. They watched her with pink, dumb eyes; all tiny squeaks, twitching whiskers, and limp, gray tails. Hm. Which should she test it on? The runt in the corner? The exceptionally fat one? What did it really matter, it was all the same anyway, and the hormone was 100 percent safe, of that she was certain.

No risks.

No danger.

No excitement.

Just a little girl who was quickly growing bored at the tedious monotony of daily life. Each day held only more of the same: Work with which she was no longer enamored, interactions with family members to whom she felt little connection, staring at the same computer screen and inputting the same data often at the same time of day.

Frankly, there were times she wanted to stop and do something different, but she didn't know _how_ to to anything different. Does Luna ever tire of music? Of playing and composing and performing it? Does Lynn ever get so blamed sick of balls that simply looking at one makes her physically ill? Or were they too ignorant to realize that every day was like the last?

That was a question she had asked herself repeatedly over the past year. Her siblings, in fact, were fascinating when you really sat down and watched them: Each projected a stereotypical and cliched persona. Luna was The Rocker, Lynn The Jock, Lucy The Goth. It was almost as though each one of their personalities was contrived, and that each one fell into a role like a square peg into a square hole. Lincoln was The Geek, Lola The Beauty Queen, Lana The Tomboy. If she didn't know any better, she'd say that they were, in essence, 2-D cardboard cutouts created by a cartoonist somewhere who was more concerned with silly pratfalls and tired, rehashed storylines than with inspired characterizations. There's your proof of God - He exists and He is _lazy._

She was no better when you got right down to it. She was The Genius - whenever the plot needed to be moved forward (or something absurd had to happen) she was there in her baggy green sweater and oversized glasses, all too happy to oblige. _Ah, instead of Character A dreaming the episode, lets have them get into Lisa's chemicals and hallucinate._

Brilliant. We'll win the coveted Kids' Choice Award for sure.

Perhaps that was a harsh assessment, but Lisa felt it to be largely true. Her siblings were little more than silhouettes, as was she herself. The Genius - she has no life outside of science, you know. She never sets the beakers aside and plays solitaire on her computer, she doesn't collect stamps or follow sports, she never clears her schedule and let the day make itself- she's always _working,_ always experimenting and doing "research." And the worst part of it is: Most said research doesn't even break new ground. She's an explorer traipsing through charted territory.

A little girl playing scientist, and not a real scientist at all.

She looked at the syringe and frowned. "I'm far too young for an existential crisis."

But was she? In body, perhaps, but certainly not in mind; in mind she was old, jaded...and tired. She had always been this way - and her memory stretched back to almost the day of her birth. It was likely a brain disorder of some kind - there existed several linked directly to intelligence, perception, and memory. She knew of them, but had never studied them at length because for all her outward apathy, she was human, and no one wants to admit that they may have a serious and potentially life-threatening disease.

She really should, though; brain disorders ran through the family like troubled waters. There was Leni, mildly retarded, Luan with her _Witzelsucht_ (and that's exactly what it is, don't tell me different), and Lucy's budding bipolar disorder. Her parents seemed normal enough, though she had never given either a full mental diagnostic, as well as her grandfather, Aunt Ruth, and every other relation she had ever met (which, come to think of it, wasn't many). She was absolutely convinced, however, that if she looked hard enough, she would find, like a malignant needle in a haystack, that one relative who died in an institution, confined to a straight jacket and banging their head against a padded wall.

Perhaps that was the fate that awaited her - there is an undeniable correlation between intelligence and certain disorders - schizophrenia, dementia, and Alzheimer's chiefly among them. The brain, despite its vast complexity, is a fragile thing, and using it too much leads to it breaking down; run a horse too fast and for too long, it eventually keels over. So, too, does the cerebrum.

"The stars that burn the brightest burn the fastest," she told the mice as she opened the lid of the cage and reached in. She hovered her hand indecisively over the writhing mass, then decided on the fat one after all; she grabbed it and pulled it out, then closed the lid. "This might sting," she said with a trace of irony and lifted the needle. The mouse seemed to tremble, and Lisa rolled her eyes. "This is perhaps the most pedestrian thing I've ever created," she said flatly, "you have nothing to worry about. Though there _is_ a very slight chance that it will send your pituitary gland into hyperdrive and stimulate the overproduction of hormones."

An endocrine gland the size of a pea and positioned at the base of the brain, the pituitary gland synthesizes, stores, and secretes hormones that control a wide array of bodily processes including but not limited to: Growth, blood pressure, breast milk production, pain relief via the emission of endorphins, sex organ function, water regulation, and the all important temperature control. _Zyclandizo_ was intended to boost the pituitary gland (among other things), and it was possible that it might cause a chaotic increase in the gland's production of hormones. Or even a reduction. She was confident that _Zyclandizo_ was stable, but if she was wrong, the results could be catastrophic. Mr. Mouse here was taking a very big risk.

He should be excited.

Lisa blinked, an idea gathering in her mind like a coming storm. She grinned at the mouse, and it shook in fear. "On second thought, I rather like you, and I'd never forgive myself if something were to happen to you." She opened the top of the cage and sat him gently down on a tuft of grass. She closed the lid, walked over to the desk, and sat. "I suppose," she said as she opened a drawer and rummaged around, "I will just have to take one for the team, as Lynn says."

Her heartbeat sped up as she imagined all of the terrible and thrilling things that _could_ happen - a dramatic increase in muscle mass, lethal spikes in blood pressure, a growth spurt that ended with her seven and a half feet tall (hope you remember all the so-called noogies you've given me, Lynn, because I do). Maybe those things would happen, maybe they wouldn't - and maybe _other_ things would happen. She didn't know, and not knowing was terribly exciting.

She pulled out an iodine wipe, rolled up her sleeve, and ripped the package, rubbing a spot over her vein and smearing her flesh orange. Next, she pressed the point to the injection site at a 45 degree angle, and stopped when she felt cold steel against her flesh. A loud voice in the center of her brain yelled at her to stop, for God's sake, don't be a fool, but listening to that voice is exactly what The Genius would do, rigid in the trajectory of her 2-D character arc. The Genius doesn't take risks, The Genius abides by all the rules and regulations, The Genius is, to be blunt, a boring fuddy-duddy stick in the mud.

Gritting her teeth, she jabbed herself and hissed, then depressed the plunger, injecting 10 cc of excitement directly into her bloodstream. Warmth spread out from ground zero, and a small, satisfied smile touched her lips. "There," she said and pulled the needle out, "now we wait."

And wait.

And wait.

By the end of the day, she had noticed no changes whatsoever, and couldn't deny her disappointment. It would take roughly a week to be sure, but going in, she was certain that the drug would have the intended effect, and that belief was now solidified. Her immune system would improve and she would eventually detect changes, but they would be slight. Sigh. So much for _that,_ though for a few hours today, she _was_ in a state of animation, so it wasn't _really_ a loss - more a temporary respite. Which, she supposed, is exactly what she wanted.

Now, onto the next thing.

At the base of her brain, unbeknownst to her, a pea sized gland started going into hyperdrive.

* * *

Lincoln Loud was stuck in a hellish wasteland, a place where no rain or river flowed, where the rocks were blasted and irradiated, craters pock-marked the ground, and wayward ghosts walked under a blood red sky, wailing in the night for relief they would never find.

It was called the friend zone.

Maybe he was being a bit of a drama queen (he was steeped in the stewing estrogen of ten sisters, after all), but can you blame him? No man wants to play bestie to a girl he likes. Oh, if he likes her enough he will, but every moment he does is like being stabbed repeatedly in the guts. _(_ _The Wayans Brothers was a good show, man! It was a good-ass show! And we didn't even get a final episode!)_. Not only is he constantly in the presence of the woman he loves (and who doesn't love him back), but it also wounds the ol pride. Lincoln himself had a healthy amount of the stuff, and when Girl Jordan said _I like you as a friend,_ it hurt that almost as much as his heart. Every man (and woman) likes to think they are appealing to the opposite sex, that they are attractive and charming and all that other good stuff _so why_ wouldn't _she (or he) want to be with me?_ Trying and being slapped back down then is probably the worst thing that could ever happen to your pride.

And the worst part was...he legitimately liked her. He wasn't after the proverbial one thing (at this stage, hand-holding), and he wasn't trying to win a bet like Freddie Prinze Jr. in _She's All That_...he wanted to be her boyfriend. She was pretty, smart, fun, and all that other gay stuff that wasn't really gay, but you had to front like it was or Poppa Wheelie and Rusty Spokes would mercilessly roast you at lunch. He'd known her for six months, which is like forever in elementary kid years, and they had a pretty good friendship, so he thought maybe it was time to take things to the next level.

In gym class that day, as kids pelted each other with dodgeballs and insults ( _nice throw, fag),_ Lincoln stood on the sidelines with Clyde and tracked Jordan as she walked along the opposite wall with some other girls whose names weren't important: She was tall and slim with blonde hair in a French braid and big, shimmering brown eyes a guy could lose himself in for days. She wore a yellow T-shirt and blue shorts that clung to tight to her shapely legs. Lincoln tried his hardest not to leer, but he totally did...just a little.

"I'm gonna do it," he told Clyde, "I'm gonna ask her out."

Clyde furrowed his brow. "You sure you wanna do that? I mean, she's part of our friend group now and -"

Lincoln sighed dreamily, completely ignoring his friend.

"It might be a little awkward if she - "

"Be right back," he said and crossed the basketball court, ducking to avoid a ball hurtling through the air like cannonfire. He didn't see Clyde throw up one hand and mutter _whatever_. Falling in behind Jordan and her friends, he shoved his hands into his pockets and acted as casual as he could, doing a damn good job of hiding his nerves. Alright, Linc, smile, exude confidence, and be bold.

Closing the gap between them, he tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned. "Oh, hey, Linc," she said with a friendly smile.

"Hey," he said, looking into her eyes and giving her all of his focus, her friends be damned. "Can I talk to you real quick?"

"Sure," she said and nodded for her friends to keep going. Leaning against the wall and crossing her arms, she asked, "What's up?"

Should he cross his arms too? Nah, they'd make him look defensive. He put his hands on his hips instead, "I was wondering if maybe you'd wanna go down to Gus's after school. You know, hang out."

She nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like fun."

To make sure she knew what he was getting at, he said, "Just me and you."

That's when the wheels fell off. "Oh," he drew, her eyebrows lifting, "like...like a date?"

Lincoln wasn't really a girl guru (he was lying through his teeth that day), but he wasn't entirely girl-illiterate either; he could tell she didn't like the idea, and his spirits deflated. He was committed, though. "Yeah," he said, "like a date."

For a moment, she regarded him with something approaching pity. "Eh...no, not really," she said, "I like you as a friend."

If life was a movie, those six words would have echoed as the camera panned in on Lincoln's horrified face. And if it was a dumb cartoon, he'd have sank to his knees, thrown his head back, and let out a thunderous, "Nooooooooooo!"

But life is life, so he uttered a nervous laugh instead. "Okay, no problem, I just thought...maybe...you know...worth a shot."

"I'm flattered," she said in a tone of consolation, "but not really looking for _that_ right now."

"I understand," Lincoln said.

The walk back across the gym was one of abiding shame and hyper self-consciousness; he could feel her eyes hot and heavy on his back, and keeping his head high and his stride even, not too fast and not too slow, was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but he did it. "So," Clyde said as Lincoln walked up, "how'd it go?"

He shrugged. "She's not really looking to date," he said in a dismissive tone. _I wasn't all that serious anyway,_ it lied.

"Aw, man, I'm sorry," Clyde said, "you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, "nothing lost, nothing gained, right?"

That was something Lynn said - some sports thing or something, idk. It meant that while you didn't go forward, you didn't go back either, which is good. He didn't know if it really applied here because things _might_ wind up being weird between them, so maybe he _did_ lose something.

And that's the thought that carried him through the rest of the day; he didn't particularly relish being consigned to the friend zone like a cuck, but he liked her as both a girl _and_ a friend, so he wasn't in any hurry to turn his back on her. He'd be fine staying friends - he liked her and all, but he wasn't so far gone that he was writing sappy poetry and sniffing the air when she walked by. There was hope for him yet, is what I'm saying. She might not wanna be his friend anymore, though, and that kind of bothered him.

When the final bell rang, he took his books to his locker, grabbed his coat, and left through the front door, taking up position at the flagpole to wait for Lucy, Lola, Lana, and Lisa like he did every afternoon. Up until this year, he was the only one of the younger kids Mom and Dad let walk. Lucy, Lola, and Lana wanted in on the fun (fun in this case _not having to carpool with Lori and her perpetual PMS trip_ ) so they kind of twisted his arm. _Yeah, Mom and Dad, I'm totally responsible; if you let them walk with_ me, _nothing will ever go wrong, I promise_. They didn't literally twist his arm - Lola came into his room one day and asked. _Lincy, can you see if Mom and Dad will let me, Lana, Lisa, and Lucy walk to and from school with you? Please?_ When he told her no (come on, that walk is literally the only time I get to myself), she _humphed_ and put her hands on her hips. _Fine, until you agree I'm going to do_ this. She threw her head back and let out an annoying _ahhhhhhhh_. Lincoln snickered; he was used to being annoyed by his little sisters and it would take a _lot_ to get on his nerves...more than _she_ could muster.

Lol, wrong; she followed him around for two days doing that, and by the end of it he was ready to snatch her by the throat and throttle her into silence (eternal silence). _Fine, fine, just shut up._

When they came out, Lola with her nose up and Lana in a literal cloud of dust like that kid from the old _Peanuts_ strips, Lincoln walked over. "Where's Lucy and Lisa?" he asked, looking through the door.

"Right here," Lucy said from behind him, and he tensed. One day she was going to do that and someone was going to punch the goth right out of her.

He turned and looked from her to Lisa, both of their faces expressionless, like statues. "Let's go then."

On the walk, Lola and Lana argued, Lucy performed a piece of spoken word poetry that never ended (it went on and on, my friend), and Lisa stared straight ahead, her eyes half-lidded in apathy. They narrowed more and more as the bickering continued, then her lips peeled back from her teeth in a dog-like sneer. No one noticed, nor did they notice when she began to shake like a pressure cooker, but they sure as hell noticed when she popped off. "Both of you shut the hell up!" she snarled. "You're giving me a goddamn headache!"

Lola and Lana gaped, Lucy gasped, and Lincoln lifted a brow. Apparently she _does_ experience human emotions.

As the highest ranking Loud present, it fell to him to chastise her for her use of _language_. "Lisa, that's not -"

"Shut the hell up, Lincoln," she spat and brushed past him; now he and Lucy were gaping too, all four siblings staring after the little girl as she strode savagely down the sidewalk, her fists balled at her sides and her feet slapping a rage-filled tempo on the concrete

Lisa getting angry was unheard of; she got irritated, frustrated, and annoyed, but never outright _mad_. And...did she really tell me to shut the hell up?

"What's gotten into her?" Lola asked.

"She got sick of hearing your whiny girl voice," Lana said.

Lola shoved her and Lana shoved her back. "Knock it off," Lincoln said, "or you're going back to carpooling with Lori."

"Fine," Lola said. She threw back her head. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Lana grimaced, then smacked Lola's tirara off her head. "Shut up, dweeb."

By the time they finally got home, Lincoln's nerves were even more frazzled than they were when he leff, but at least he wasn't thinking about the friend zone.

In his room, he popped his shoes off, sank onto the bed, and took a deep breath; his muscles trembled and the center of his chest throbbed like the middle of the midday sun. He kind of wanted to sink his fist into the wall. Was he this annoying to his older sisters? Did they walk away from him wanting to punch something? If so, sorry, guys. I don't mean to.

Honestly, he felt this way a lot lately; he'd get angry and aggressive for no reason and want to start wailing on stuff. He'd also developed a new affinity for meat. He always liked it, but now it practically made him finish in his pants. And speaking of finishing in his pants, he got hard a _lot_. Sex wasn't constantly on his mind, but it occupied more space in his head than it probably should.

 _That's puberty, son,_ his father told him once. He literally picked Lincoln up, sat him on his knee, and fumbled his way through an embarrassing exposition on the birds and the bees. Shiver. Up until then, Lincoln never thought the topic of sex could be _unsexy..._ then his balding, middle-aged father started talking about penises going into vaginas and Lincoln realized just how wrong he was.

Why do they call it _the birds and the bees_ anyway? Birds and bees aren't known for having sex with each other, at least not that he knew. He could _kind_ of understand the bees being in there, since they pollinate flowers the way men, uh, pollinate women, but what the hell do birds have to do with anything? Is it because their poop is white like -?

Alright, moving on. He _was_ planning on playing a little _Steal That Car 3,_ but now he was filled with restless energy and sitting down and concentrating, even on grand theft auto and wanton mayhem, was the _last_ thing he wanted to do. Maybe -

Lynn poked her head in and lidded her eyes. "Hey, Lincoln~"

Aw, man, she wanted something -

Wait, actually, I could go for some sports. Get all of this pent up aggression out. "Hey, Lynn, wanna play some football?"

Lynn blinked in confusion. "Uh...what?"

"Do you wanna play some football?" he asked again.

"Yeah, actually, I -"

Lincoln was already putting his shoes on. "Great. Let's go."

* * *

When she arrived home, Lisa slammed through her bedroom door, tossed her backpack onto the floor, and crossed to her desk, where she sat before her computer. She was _extremely_ annoyed, and there was a very large part of her that wanted to unleash on the PC in front of her - hit it with a quick jab, making it rock, then following with an uppercut and knocking it clean off the table. While pretending it was Lola's face. Gah, that girl was so goddamn taxing sometimes, walking about as though she were royalty and staring down her nose. _I stand on a stage and look pretty for pedophiles, worship me._ And Lana - Lisa was not obsessive compulsive (in fact, there were times she didn't bathe for days on end because she couldn't pull herself away from her work), but God in heaven, Lana was disgusting. Don't even get me started on Lucy and her calculated morbidity. _I'm an eight-year-old girl, woe unto me!_

The only one of that lot who didn't thoroughly irritate her was Lincoln, but even he was wore on her nerves with his fumbling attempts at admonishing her. And with his butt - the way it wiggled under his tight jeans and commanded her reluctant attention. Cover that obscene display.

She drew a shaky breath and ran her fingers through her hair. It was just the _Zyclandizo_ ; it was doing its job and stimulating hormone production. Since injecting herself with the stuff two days ago, she'd vacillated between rootless anger, inexplicable sadness, and even, very briefly, sexual arousal.

All of that was to be expected, of course. As were the physical side effects - sore muscles, tender breasts, and even the stray hair she plucked from her upper lip that morning. Without a second dosage, it would subside within a week, but right now she felt its effects _very_ strongly.

And if Lola and Lana kept up their incessant bickering, she'd plow one in the face and send them crying to their parents. _Female parental unit, Lisa has struck me!_ A barbaric grin cut across her features, and she settled back in her chair like a woman preparing to watch a good movie. Maybe she'd -

Behind her, the door opened and she tensed. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" she snapped.

Ignoring her, Lori said, "I need a refill."

Lisa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Three months ago, Lori came to her with a _little_ problem: Bobby didn't "pull out" the night before, and she was concerned with the possibility of an unintended pregnancy. _Abstinence is a surefire birth control method,_ Lisa said without looking away from her computer

Lori laughed harshly. _That's_ literally _not going to happen._

Of course it wasn't. After administering a home brew version of Plan B to flush Lori's system of any unwanted tissue build-up - a fetus, that is - Lisa whipped up a batch of conception suppressants and gave them to her older sister with the instructions to take one immediately before or after sexual intercourse.

That was two months ago, and so far Lori had gone through close to 300 pills. "Lori," she said with strained patience, "I just gave you fifty last Sunday."

Lori _meh'd_. "I'm ovulating this week so I'm extra horny."

"A woman does not ovulate for -"

"Just give me my pills, twep."

Sudden anger exploded in Lisa's chest, and she spun the chair around to face the older girl; Lori stared at her with a raised eyebrow as if to say _chop, chop, slave._ Lisa's rage grew hotter; she gripped the arms of the chair with hooked fingers and sneered like a dog on a leash. "I've grown _quite_ sick of your promiscuity, Lori; you are perhaps the biggest strumpet I've met in life. You saunter around here shaking your hips and thrusting your butt out in anticipation of being mated like a bitch in heat by your slacker, pizza delivery boyfriend and, I daresay, any other available male in the vicinity. You treat sex as though it is a tasty treat in which you can indulge, guilt-free. You blow through birth control pills the way a disco band blows through cocaine because you are a slave to the reptilian part of your brain that's connected to that... _thing_ between your legs. You are hedonistic, heedless, and a glutton."

Lisa was shaking now, her face red and her teeth bared. Lori's face crinkled in confusion and she slowly shook her head. "What?"

Taking a deep breath, Lisa said, "You're a slut."

Lori's features darkened. "Fuck you, Lisa. At least I can get a man."

Lisa barked hateful laughter. "And hold onto him, despite the fact that he's not only broken up with you several times, leaving you a pitiful, tear-streaked wreck, but has also engaged in cotius with Carol Pingrey on more than one occasion."

The older girl flinched. "W-We were broken up," she said defensively.

"The fact that he immediately ran to the arms of another woman displays, in detail so exacting that even a dunderhead like you can understand, that he values you not at all. That..or you simply aren't woman enough to satisfy him."

Lori's face screwed up in misery, and, covering her face to hide her tears, she turned and fled, disappearing into the hall, her sobs trailing behind her. Lisa watched her go with narrowed eyes...then took a deep breath. She was trembling from head to toe, and her heart slammed pleasantly against her breast; endorphins surged through her blood and a goofy grin spread across her lips. "That was...exhilarating!" She held her fists up and stared at them as though they were the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen. "I feel _alive_." She laughed merrily and started to turn, but stopped when Leni walked, her brow pinched in confusion.

As it _always_ was.

"Like, Lori was totes crying, do you -?"

Lisa waved her off and turned to the computer screen. "I have no time allotted for you, simpleton. Go about your mindess pursuits." Lisa grinned to herself. _Zinger!_

"Huh?" Leni asked.

Lisa turned. "Get lost, retard."

Leni recoiled as if slapped, and her big brown eyes shimmered with tears. "I-I am _not_ a retard."

Deep inside her brain, Lisa's newfound roast senses tingled. "Leni, you're a braindead airhead who couldn't think her way out of a wet paper bag. You're so stupid, you had to repeat pre-k...twice. You're so stupid, you failed lunch. You're so stupid -"

Leni ran away in tears just like Lori had, and Lisa sniffed. Good riddance to dumb rubbish. She turned back to the computer and booted it up, her foot tapping with uncharacteristic impatience. Come on, you hunk of refuse, I am not in possession of eternity. When the loading screen froze and turned blue, hot fury filled her, and she gave into it with glee: Shooting her arms out, she snatched it by the sides and shook it as though it were an uncontrollably sobbing infant. "Work, goddamn it! _Work!"_

It did not magically begin to function normally - it was an old model and this happened sometimes; it simply needed to be rebooted.

With a fist.

Drawing back, she lashed out at the screen, the satisfying crunch of the glass under her knuckles sending shivers down her spine...and beautiful pain up her arm. "I've had it with you, you outmoded piece of feces," she snarled. She picked it up, went over to the window, and opened it. She started to throw it out, but stopped when she spotted Lincoln in the backyard below, hunched over and waiting for Lynn, on the opposite end, to throw the ball. He was stripped to the waist, and sweat glistened on his naked torso.

Lisa's heartbeat sped up and a strange though not entirely unfamiliar tingling sensation spread out from her center and rippled pleasantly through her body. Lynn snapped the ball, and Lincoln jumped up to snatch it from the air, his muscles straining and flexing; her eyes darted to the front of his jeans, and her breath caught when she saw just the faintest suggestion of snowy white pubic hair.

"My word," she muttered, the computer screen dropping to the floor; she splayed her hands on the sill and leaned out the window; she was warm all over and her stomach felt as though it were home to an invasive species of butterflies, but it was a good feeling...and so was the pressure building between her thighs. She watched Lincoln streak across the yard and duck around Lynn, her gaze firmly on his tight _gluteus maximus_ \- it waved hypnotically underneath his jeans, beckoning her forward. _Come and touch me, Lisa. Experiment with thine hands~_

A shudder went through her, and she realized with a start that the crotch of her underwear was damp.

Egads, for your own brother?

She cocked her head to one side in thought. Well, yes, she was undeniably aroused for her brother; her body would not be producing vaginal lubrication in anticipation of being penetrated if she wasn't. Obviously she wasn't entirely in her _right mind,_ as it were; her body was flooded with hormones that were influencing her thought patterns and her reaction to external stimuli. In other words, she was seeing the male form and her body was responding. That fact that he was a close cospecific was irrelevant - physically speaking. Of course it was not irrelevant overall. One does not place sexual designs on one's relatives - doing so is socially, morally, and genetically repugnant, reprehensible, and unnatural.

But Lord almighty, he was a fine specimen! His pectoralis major was a finely sculpted work of art that would make even the old masters sick with envy, and his rectus abdominis begged to have small, genius hands run slowly over it.

Lisa let out a shuddery sigh, her cheeks blushing and her mouth a dreamy squiggle. Below, Lincoln was almost to the stockade fence separating their property from Mr. Grouse's, Lynn speeding to catch up. Desperate to catch him, she sprang forward, slammed her shoulder into the small of his back, and drove him to the ground. She jumped to her feet and laughed smugly. "Got'cha, Linc!"

Lincoln got to his feet, dusted himself off, and said, "Yeah, you did, good game."

Beyond his appearance, Lincoln was a highly agreeable individual: Kind, considerate of others, unobtrusive, reticent (a trait she admired), and fairly contemplative. Of course, he was also given to flights of fancy and fits of anxiety, but we all have our quirks.

We do not, unfortunately, have bodies as nice as his. If she did, she would never stop caressing herself; she'd run her fingertips from her chest to her stomach in lazy circles, then to the firm, fevered penis standing tall between her hips.

She realized she was sweating and swiped the back of her hand across her forehead. "Sweet mother of all that is holy." Lincoln and Lynn shared a high five then went in the back door, disappearing from Lisa's line of sight.

Coming alive as though from a trance, she shook her head and turned from the window. "It seems I had a momentary, male induced lapse of reason," she said to herself. She picked the monitor up, went to the desk, and sat heavily. She tried to work up a measure of self-disgust, but was mildly surprised to find none. Again, she was not in possession of her full normal faculties...but even so, the taboo of incest is overblown. A body is a body regardless of whether it contained the same genetic material as your own. In fact, incest _only_ counted on a genetic level, and even then only in cases whereby it could potentially produce offspring. Even then, the resultant child will most likely be perfectly normal save, perhaps, for one condition or another. First generation incest does _not,_ despite popular misconception, yield progeny with one eye, retardation, sociopathy, schizophrenia, pyromania, mild retardation, or nymphomania.

That takes _several_ generations of 'cest.

Regardless, that was beside the point - the point being that her body was steeped in hormones and they were clouding her mind. Bother.

Perhaps I _shouldn't_ have injected myself with that _Zyclandizo._ I suspect the effects will be mild, but if they intensify, there's no telling _what_ will become of me.

Eh.

At least I'm not bored.


	2. Unexpected Things

**Guest Stereotype: I do plan to do a Lilycoln fic at some point. I wasn't clear in my author's note, and that's my fault. I decided to write one ship for every sister** _ **at canon age**_ **, Lisa being four, Lola and Lana being six, and so on.**

 **Guest: It takes several generations for deformities that dramatic to occur. It was a reference to my story** _ **The 'Cest Kids**_ **where one generation of inbreeding lead to characters being retarded and physically malformed, etc. People honestly thought I believed one generation of incest would do that. Pfft. I wrote a story with a vampire in it, I must believe in those too.**

* * *

Lincoln woke the next morning with raging morning wood, and was forced to sit on the edge of his bed until it went away. That wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't have to fight to stay awake. See, his mornings were like parkour: He jumped up and rushed through without stopping, because if he didn't, he'd fall.

Asleep.

It finally deflated when he dropped off and snapped awake to himself toppling forward; all he could do was scream and throw out his hands to break the fall. _This is a bad sign,_ he thought as he pushed shakily to his feet, _I should go back to bed._

He would have, but school.

Kind of required to go.

In the hall, the line for the bathroom was seven deep; he'd go out in the yard, but Mr. Grouse would see him. No, literally, this guy sat on his back porch every morning with a cup of coffee and a pair of binoculars "bird watching." Every time Lincoln went outside, Grouse's eyes were upon him like he was a ranger and they were in Texas. He was either terminally nosey, Lincoln had decided, or a pedophile, and the fact that every time Lincoln was outside Mr. Grouse magically appeared or stuck his head out the window to talk to him suggested the latter. Now in addition to worrying about normal stuff like flunking the fifth grade or one of his sisters catching him with a boner, he had to worry about an old man trying to get in the back of his pants.

 _Nice rectum, Loud._

Falling in behind Lisa, he stretched and let out a yawn, then scratched his butt. "Morning, Lise," he said and smacked his lips. He was thirsty af - hope that last Coke's still where I hid it in the fridge.

"Good morning, Lincoln," Lisa said without turning. Her head twitched slightly, as though her neck _wanted_ to turn, but her brain didn't.

 _I can smell your pheromones,_ she thought; her mouth watered and sweat streamed down her face in stinging rivulets. Her muscles spasmed and not turning to Lincoln, not drinking in his body with both her eyes _and_ hands was the among the most arduous things she had ever done. _Think of something else, for God's sake!_

Her crotch twinged, and she pressed her legs together as if to keep a tide of passion from spilling out; her knees knocked, her eyes rolled, and her teeth chattered. _Christ, this is intolerable. I know now why Lori is such a thot. If it takes a penis to make it stop…_

"You alright, Lise?" Lincoln asked, a note of concern in his voice.

No, Lincoln, I am _not_ fine. I barely slept because I fluctuate between intense sexual desire and restless energy that led me to pace the floors half the night and physically assault inanimate objects. My breasts also ache so badly that the fabric of my shirt simply grazing them makes me gasp in pain, so I taped gauze over them AND IT STILL FUCKING HURTS!

Oh, and the _cramps!_ It feels like my stomach is being squeezed in a vise. I feel bloated, as well, and all I want to do is lie down.

"I'm fine, Lincoln," she said tightly, "I just need to urinate.'

"Oh," Lincoln said uncomfortably, "uh...well...there's Lily -"

"I'm not using a goddamn potty chair," Lisa spat. The urge to tear into him, to explode and vaporize everything around her was irresistible; she didn't want to give in to it, but she did. "I'm a grown woman and I will use the lavatory as befitting my age."

Everyone was looking at her, except for a thoroughly castigated Lori. Luna arched her brow. "Dude, you're only four, calm down and make piddle in your potty chair." She laughed and Lola snickered.

Lisa _lost_ it. "Shut your raspy, off-key pie hole, Luna. You dare poke fun at my bathroom habits when you've urinated on yourself several times over the past year. In a drunken stupor because you cannot have fun without being intoxicated."

The rocker's jaw dropped.

That urged Lisa on. "You are a fraud, Luna. Don't think I've forgotten that one day you cut your hair and started dressing like rock band's groupie in a vain attempt to establish a unique personality for yourself but only managed to hone in on and seize upon every tired rock and roll cliche you could possibly find. You are as original as a mediocre cover band playing pro bono in a bar to drunks who are too inebriated to care that your music is subpar at best and utter garbage at worst. You're a hack, Luna; you've donned this new personality like a cloak because underneath it... _you are naked._ You are _nothing._ "

All of her sisters, and her brother, stared at her in slack-jawed shock. Excpt for Luna - she burst into tears and ran off. Lisa simply adjusted her glasses. "The line's one shorter, at least."

"Jesus, Lise," Lynn muttered in shock.

"I don't know what's gotten into you," Lori started, "but you need to knock it off."

"Shut up, whore."

Lori's face darkened and everyone else gasped as though they'd never considered the fact their older sister was a cheap tramp who put out on hers and Bobby's first date. They were all dead from the neck up, anyway. Except for that scrumptious hunk Lincoln, but even he was on life-support.

Lana narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "You don't call Lori a whore. She's a great big sister."

"You eat dog shit, your opinion doesn't matter."

Leni's brow crinkled. "What are you being so mean to everyone? Do you, like, need a hug?"

"I need you to leave me alone, moron. I am _not_ in the mood for this."

Tears filled Leni's eyes, and she ran off too. Lori's jaw clenched. "That's it, I'm telling Mom and Dad."

"Go then," Lisa said and crossed her arms, "don't stop for penis on the way, I'm in a hurry."

Growling and balling her fists, Lori stalked angrily by. Lisa started to turn, but sfittened when Lincoln's hands fell on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft and concerned. His warmth flowed into her, and her nether regions pulsed in time with her suddenly slamming heart. Her cheeks turned red, and she was powerless to do anything but sink into him.

"No," she admitted, "I'm not okay." She nuzzled her forehead against his arm like an affectionate cat. Her sisters glared at her then turned as one, like the hive-minded dolts they were, but she didn't care - Lincoln was touching her, his fingers splayed on her shoulders, her bare stomach pressed against her head, his bulge prodding her back. Sweet mama, this is stimulating!

"What's wrong?" he asked and rubbed her shoulders like a manager giving a pep talk to the punch drump champ between rounds. Hot desire welled in her folds like water from the ground and her underwear dampened. Again. "You've been acting really strange."

 _Run your hands over my chest, Lincoln (being careful to avoid my tender breasts), then slip them down the front of my pants and mastubate me while I cling to your free hand and and hump -_

"LISA LOUD!" Dad roared, making her jump. "GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"

But -

"ON THE DOUBLE!"

Lisa hung her head; she honestly didn't think Lori was dumb enough to do this. _I gave her too much credit_. She pulled away from Lincoln _very_ reluctantly, and shivered; without his body heat she was cold, and every fiber of her being cried out for her to wrap her arms around him, bury her face in his stomach, take a deep breath of his fragrant skin, and never let him go.

Until she needed one hand to push down her pajama bottoms so he could penetrate her.

 _God alive, you've gone mad, woman!_

"NOWWWW!"

Lisa balled her fist and peeled her lips back from her teeth, all of her annoyance at her chest, her leaking genitals, her aimless anger, her cramps, and being torn from Lincoln focusing on Lori and their father like a laser guided missile. "I'll be right back," she said through her teeth. She ducked into her room, grabbed something, and stalked past her siblings and down the stairs, her hands curled into fists.

Dad and Lori waited in the living room, Dad with his hands sternly on his hips and Lori with her arms folded, a mocking little smirk on her lips. _Ha. Ha._ It said. Ha ha indeed.

"Young lady," Dad said, "what is this I hear about you using foul language and being mean to your sisters?"

 _Calm, Lisa, stay calm._

"The truth hurts, as they say; I simply pointed out to Luna that her entire personality is contrived and manufactured. As for Leni...I merely reaffirmed the concesonsus of her doctors: That she is mentally deficient and mildly retarded. It's really not a big deal."

Dad's face set dangerously. "It _is_ a big deal. You called Leni and Luna both terrible names and made two of your own sisters cry. You're telling me that isn't a problem?"

"Precisely," Lisa said. "The onus is not on me if they can't handle a few simple and obvious truths."

Dad's lips pursed tightly. "Young lady, march yourself upstairs right now and apologize to your sisters." The commanding tone of his voice grated Lisa, and before she could stop herself, she was taking off on him.

"I'll thank you to not speak to me in that manner; I refuse to conduct myself as though a balding middle-aged man with a less-than-average IQ and whom dances through the house in a pink apron is the boss of me. I am, for all intents and purposes, a grown woman, and I resent that you dare to believe you can order me to do _anything_."

Dad's eyes narrowed to slits and he drew a sharp breath through flaring nostrils. "That's it, young lady, you are grounded. Go to your room."

For a moment Lisa considered fighting back, but deep down she knew she was in enough trouble, so she simply glared, then started to turn but stopped. "Oh, Lori," she said and took a plastic bottle from her pocket. Locking gazes with her sister, she tossed in on the floor in front of her. "Here are those birth control pills you wanted."

Lori's face fell, and Dad's eyes widened. "Birth control?" he sputtered as Lisa climbed the stairs, a wicked grin on her face. I believe the colloquialism is: Mess with the _bos taurus,_ get the _cornu._

In the hall, she took up her former position in front of Lincoln and faced forward, waiting for him to put his hands on her shoulders again. When he didn't, she cleared her throat. "Lincoln?"

"Yeah?"

"I am feeling rather down, would you please embrace me?"

For a moment she thought he didn't understand, and was just opening her mouth to reply when he hesitantly slipped his arms around her neck in an X. Lisa smiled to herself and squirmed into a comfortable position, her head resting against his stomach and her back on his bulge...so warm and full and _ummmm_. She felt heat on her face and between her legs, but she didn't care - this was _quite_ nice. "S-So," he said nervously and tried to shift his hips away, but Lisa followed, pressing harder against him, "g-grounded, huh?" He laughed. "That's a first."

Lisa hummed. "It was a long time coming." She was delirious: His smell filled her head, his heat filled her body, and she imagined she could feel _him_ through his briefs - the curves and ridges of his budding manhood, the hooked head of his _glans,_ his testicles so full of manily virtilty - men are most potent in the morning, and though the thought of having her brother's child sickened her even now, the knowledge that he was _fertile_ made her vaginal region quiver. Bending her knees, she rubbed her back and down across his front, and when she felt it _twitch,_ she nearly melted into a puddle of hot goo.

Suddenly he pulled away as if in panic and spun around. "Alright," he said quickly, "there, hope you, uh, feel better." She turned and watched him hurry to his room, a slight frown on her face. When he went in and slammed the door behind him, someone sighed.

"What'd you do to Lincoln?" Lynn asked; the accusation in her voice was unmistakable.

"Did she make him cry too?" Lola asked haughtily.

Anger blossomed in Lisa's chest like a poisonous flower, and she had to literally bite down on her tongue to keep from snapping back. It was obvious what happened: Her stimuli caused him to become erect, and he fled in shame, horror, or confusion - most likely a mixture of all three. Shame and remorse bubbled up from her stomach and spread through her; she allowed herself to get caught up in her own arousal and went too far, potentially harming Lincoln's psyche. He _was_ fragile, after all...from what little she actually knew of him. As previously stated, her siblings were silhouettes to her, and that included him; analogously speaking, she could vividly see the forest, but not so well the individual trees. She was pretty sure he was fragile...though maybe she was wrong; that didn't matter, what _did_ matter was: Sweet mother of Albert Einstein, his erect penis _touched_ her. She _felt_ it moving. *Dreamy sigh*

Incest might be awful, but right now she didn't care: She wanted Lincoln to penetrate her and massage her vaginal walls with his glans until she achieved orgasm, and that, she decided, was what she was going to do with her day.

But first, sigh, school.

* * *

Lincoln's first class of the day was English, a subject in which he was proficient - he averaged a B- which wasn't perfect, but good enough for him.

Having such a high grade allowed him to intentionally flunk a day here and there if need be: Maybe he was too tired to take a test and just circled answers at random, or maybe he didn't feel like reading the lame-o book the teacher assigned him ( _A Tale of Two Cities? More like A Tale of Two Shitties)._

Or, possibly, he was too worried about his sister to focus.

Sitting at his desk in the back of the room, he divided his attention between space (as in _staring into_ ) and the back of Girl Jordan's head, his mind firmly on Lisa.

Something was wrong with her. First, she popped off on Lola and Lana yesterday. He didn't think much of it because they _were_ being annoying, but then that stuff this morning in the hall - she ripped Luna to shreds then Leni, then Lori, then Dad. That wasn't like her at all; she threw the occasional barb, but verbally pummeling someone the way she did Luna? I mean, God, that was downright cruel. Lisa's not the most friendly person in the world, but she's never an outright bitch like _that_. Then there was how she acted with him - overly affectionate. Now that was _really_ unlike her; thinking back, he could only remember one or two instances where they shared an actual hug - usually their displays of affection were limited to a shoulder squeeze or a hand pat. Small things, restrained things, things you'd get from Hank Hill because he had emotions, he just didn't like to show them. Lincoln always assumed Lisa _had_ no emotions; she was all brains and no heart. Which...okay, fine, that's just how some people are, and sometimes you _need_ cold analytics. Nothing wrong with that personality type; in fact, as far as he was concerned, it was better than the opposite - wearing your heart on your sleeve, crying at the drop of a hat, being a seething pit of sensitivity governed totally by your feelings.

You know, like those SJW types.

Lisa was as unlike that as you could possibly get, yet this morning she not only asked him for a hug, but melted into him like a slice of cheese in the microwave.

And into his crotch.

Shudder.

Lincoln was not a pervert, but he _was_ an eleven-year-old boy in the throes of puberty - you don't touch, look at, or even think about his dick, or it'd get hard. Seriously, sometimes all it took was him setting a bag or box in his lap and _boioioioioioioing!_ The fact that he sprung a raging erection from Lisa innocently rubbing against him absolutely did _not_ make him hate himself, nor did it send him spiraling into self-loathing depression because _oh noes, I'm a freak!_ He understood his body well enough to know that right now, at this stage in life, it was almost entirely divorced from his mind - it acted on its own accord and there was nothing he could do about it. He wasn't sexually interested in his four-year-old sister, and when his dick started to get hard, it was simply his sensitive pubescent body responding, on a purely biological level, to external stimuli.

Still, as soon as he felt himself started to swell, he got the hell up outta Dodge; he knew where he stood, but it'd look really bad to everyone else if he popped a massive chub from hugging his little sister. Lisa...well, _she_ might understand, but the others? They'd think he was a pedo or something, and not just that, but an _incest_ pedo to boot, which is worse.

He thought.

Maybe.

Hell, he didn't know, he didn't exactly dedicate a butt load of time to thinking about pedophilia or incest. When it came to sex, he was pretty vanilla. Granted, he was eleven and hadn't even _had_ sex yet, so he couldn't really say what he liked. For right now, though, it was normal, entry level stuff, like touching boobies and missionary. Umf. He didn't think about touching little kid boobies, though. Or boobies that were related to him. As it stood right this second, he was confident that he didn't like pedo-cest or in-philla. Sorry, kiddos, you gotta be _at least_ nine to hang with Linc. And even that was kind of pushing it.

Anyway, back to Lisa - she was acting very strange and even admitted she wasn't feeling well. He meant to ask her what was wrong, but Dad called her away, then when she came back she did the whole loving-cat-giving-him-an-erection thing.

Mood swings. That's it; it's like she was having mood swings. After all, didn't she snap his head off right along with Lola and Lana's yesterday? _Go to hell, Lincoln._ Or was it _Shut the hell up?_ He didn't remember, but it was pretty biting - the kind of thing that might make a weaker boy think she hated him and he should run away because his family would be better off or some dumb shit like that. Then, the very next day, she was smothering him in affection - the kind that would make a more timid kid stutter, stammer, and run away because -

He got hard.

 _Nah, that's different. I didn't run away in shame, I ran to hide my wood...same way I'd run to hide me shitting myself or something._

That was beside the point, though - his boner was absolutely normal, Lisa roasting everyone then being all tender and sweet (like a Sour Patch Kid, lol) was not.

Hm. He wasn't a doctor and he had no idea what the problem could even be...that meant he'd have to sit her down and talk to her when they got home. That's really all he could do.

Right now, he needed to focus on this lesson, because he just remembered he had a reading assignment he wanted to ditch and he couldn't flunk that and this too. _Oh, class, here, take 1984 by George Orwell and then blah blah blah;_ he tuned the teacher out after that, screw _1984,_ that book looked dumb: _Winston Smith wrestles with oppression in Oceania, a place where the Party scrutinizes human actions with ever-watchful Big Brother. Defying a ban on individuality, Winston dares to express his thoughts in a diary and pursues a relationship with Julia. These criminal deeds bring Winston into the eye of the opposition, who then must reform the nonconformist. George Orwell's 1984 introduced the watchwords for life without freedom: BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU._

He felt for Winston, though, because he kinda had it the same, only instead of Big Brother it was Big Sister. Lori, you know, _I'm the boss of you because I'm the oldest and that makes me special._ She wasn't a straight tyrant or anything, just really bossy and liked to throw her weight around when she was on the rag. One time he and his other sisters _almost_ jumped her because she was being extra bitchy while babysitting. _No video games, no guitar, no phone, no lights, no motor cars, not a single luxury, like Robinson Crusoe, as primitive as can be._

 _Damn it, now that's gonna be stuck in my head all day._

At the blackboard, Ms. Johnson tapped a ruler to the word TOTALITARIAN and had the class sound it out: TOW-TAL-AH-TARY-IN. Lincoln didn't participate because he knew how to pronounce that word. He even used it once or twice to refer to Lori. He glanced at the back of Girl Jordan's head and sighed. He should probably talk to her too, just a quick, _hey, how's it going? Wanna hang with me and Clyde?_ Just to make sure things were okay between them and not weird.

When the bell rang fifteen minutes later, Lincoln gathered his things and fought his way through a sea of humanity to his locker. Clyde's was next door, and when Lincoln walked up, he was rummaging through it.

Lincoln input the combination (42-39-56), opened the door, and shoved his books in. "I wanna talk to Girl Jordan later. See if she wants to hang with us after school tomorrow. Or some other day. Not _this_ day though. I got things to do."

Humming, Clyde pulled out his chemistry book and slammed the door. "Cool with me. You worried she's gonna be weird after yesterday?"

"Yeah," Lincoln sighed, "kind of. More than just kind of."

Clyde opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. "Maybe," he allowed. "All you did was ask her on a date. That's, like, the most normal thing in the world. You didn't slap her butt or anything. Right? I wasn't watching."

"No, I didn't. I just don't want things to be awkward. I like her as a friend, you know? I don't wanna lose her."

Clyde leaned against his locker and faced him. "What if you do?" he asked pointedly, throwing Lincoln for a loop.

"Uh...I guess I lose her as a friend."

"It won't be the end of the world, right?"

Lincoln shook his head slowly...guardedly. "No, it won't, but I genuinely like her and I'd hate to not be friends with her anymore."

Some kid passing in the hall bumped into Lincoln and knocked him forward; Lincoln whipped around but they were gone, disappeared into the crowd. Maybe it was an accident, maybe it wasn't.

"I'm just making sure you're not gonna spaz out or something," Clyde said.

Lincoln's shoulders sagged. "Why does everyone act like I'm an oversensitive pansy? It gets really old. Do I need to knock someone out to prove I'm not a timid, weak-willed pushover?"

Clyde shrugged. "I'm just letting you know it's not -"

For some reason, Lincoln was suddenly pissed. He slammed the locker door and brushed past Clyde. "Whatever," he mumbled and joined the flow of traffic. Screw Clyde. Who the hell was _he_ to talk about someone spazzing out? He had more issues than a fucking magazine, and every time he saw Lori - _does not compute, systems shutting down._ Pfft. Loser. At least _he_ could talk to the girl he liked instead of popping nasty-ass nosebleeds and passing out like a drunk.

The urge to hit something crackled along his arm like electricity, and that locker up ahead was just _begging_ for it. _Take_ that, _Clyde. This is one nosebleed you'll have a reason for._

Instead, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. No, he wasn't going to give in to his emotions like that - doing so would only prove that he really _was_ a spaz. He wasn't. He was virtually a grown man, and grown men handle their anger, they don't hit stuff like a little boy throwing a tantrum.

Relax, Linc, it wasn't even that big a deal. Like you said, Clyde has no room to say _shit_. In fact, _he_ should be angry because he was stupid enough to throw a stone, and now his glass house is shattered beyond repair and he and dads are homeless.

Deep breath number two.

By the time he got to history class, he was calm(er) and no longer wanted to throw hands with inanimate objects. He took his seat at the back of the room and waited for the fun to begin.

He was only being _half_ sarcastic - he liked history. It was basically rote memorization, and rote memorization came easy. _Person - event - outcome._ Boom, there you go, history class _done_.

Girl Jordan came in, and his stomach pinched. She took her customary place three seats in front of him without so much as a glance; no friendly _Hey, Linc_ like most days, and spaz or not, that kind of hurt...like a shiv to the guts.

Yeah...things _are_ going to be awkward.

Damn.

 _Well, if that's how it's gonna be, I'm just not going to talk to her. For now. Give her some space, then try to pick up where we left off._

Sigh.

* * *

In the kindergarten class two halls away, Lisa sat at a long table surrounded by other children and pressed her hands to her stomach, a grimace of pain on her face. The cramps, dull and aching earlier, were sharper now, like steely knives, and every movement sent streaks of agony into the center of her skull. She was also quite fatigued - the urge to put her head down and slip into unconsciousness was great, but if she tried, the intensity of the cramps would only grow stronger. She was trapped, therefore, in a slightly hunched position and attempting to _not_ groan like a woman in the midst of childbirth.

 _This is extremely vexing,_ she thought as she reached out one shaky hand and grabbed the juice box. She lifted the the straw to her lips and sucked, the tepid liquid flooding her mouth with the taste of imitation apple-flavoring. Beside her, her friend Darcy was bent over a sheet of construction paper and humming happily as she drew a landscape portrait of her family in front of their domicile, a smiling sun watching over them like an upbeat deity. _I shall smite thee this day...with kindness_.

Lisa's friendship with Darcy was a strange one. Darcy was a normal child, the kind Lisa usually found intolerable. Everyone needs a friend, however, and though they didn't have very much in common, Lisa was fond of the little girl. At times, she even envied her and her normalcy. During story time, when the children sat in a semi-circle and listened to the teacher read aloud from the works of Suess, Dahl, and Sendak, her eyes would lit up with joy. Meanwhile, Lisa stared into space and struggled to not openly lambast the pedantic writing style, or the crudely drawn pictures that always accompanied the text. _That, Mrs. Rosedale, is not art, it is the inane scribblings of a failed artist who lives in a one bedroom apartment and eeks by on taking commissions for projects he loathes. If he has not already hanged himself, he will momentarily. Unless he is stupid and content with his pathetic lot in life. That's possible as well._

She could not take pleasure in little things the way her classmates did, in normal things. She was not happy-go-lucky as they were, she was not _free_ ; she was bound by her intellect, as though it were a millstone. She couldn't let go and play as they did, or delight in the simple act of drawing a picture. They didn't demand perfection of themselves in everything they did, they didn't worry over the minutest of details, and their minds weren't eternally consumed with devices and mechanizations. They could stop, smell the roses, and live in the moment. She could not, and there were times when this fact caused her great mental distress. The idea of being like them, however, did likewise. She wanted to be normal in a way, but the thought of actually _being_ normal frankly scared her.

Presently, she sat the juice box down and winced as her stomach muscles contracted. Christ alive, this was painful.

It was an effect of that goddamn _Zyclandizo_. It _had_ to be. It was wreaking havoc on her system, and she was coming to believe that she'd greatly miscalculated its potency.

Fool. She injected herself with an unvetted compound and had possibly compromised her health, or her very life, and for what? A cheap thrill? An attempt to ease the crashing boredom of her life? To assuage the obvious depression from which she suffered? At the time she didn't care what the drug did to her, but now cold dread filled her like icy water, and she was sincerely afraid.

As soon as she returned to her lab, she would embark on -

 _CRAMP!_

Excruciation burst in her center like a bomb blast, and dazzling red light flooded her head. She bored down on her teeth, moaned, and held herself tighter. Darcy glanced over and frowned in concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Lisa hissed, "I'm fine."

Darcy didn't look convinced. "Do you have to go poop?"

The urge to snap ( _I've considered that, dolt!)_ came over her, but she fought it back. "No," she said, "I am experiencing gastrointestinal discomfort unrelated to the process of defecation."

Darcy tilted her head, confused.

"I don't have to poop," Lisa clarified, "my tummy just hurts."

"Oh," Darcy said, then shot up her hand. Before Lisa could protest, Mrs. Rosedale floated over in a swish of black skirt like a nun quietly and reverently making her way through the halls of a monastery.

"Yes, Darcy?"

"Lisa's tummy hurts," Darcy said, "she needs to see the nurse."

Mrs. Rosedale looked at Lisa with an exaggerated and patronizing expression of worry. "Are you alright, Lisa?"

Lisa started to lie, but another spasm hit, and she could only nod.

"Let me get you a hall pass," Mrs. Rosedale said softly and patted Lisa's shoulder. If she weren't currently doubled over in pain, Lisa would have grabbed the offending appendage and ripped it asunder. Instead, she nodded that she understood and would (most likely) survive until such time as the pass could be proffered.

As she waited, Darcy patted her knee and did her best to provide comfort, for which Lisa was grateful. When Mrs. Rosedale returned, Lisa took the pass, got to her feet with a wince, and shuffled to the door. In the hall, she paused to let another cramp pass, then turned right toward the main office area, in which the infirmary was located. Halfway there, she became aware of an unpleasant stickiness in her groin region, emanating from her vagina. She experienced a similar sensation that morning when she was aroused, but this was stronger, not so much a leak as it was a gush.

By the time she reached the nurse's office, her inner thighs were wet and the crotch of her pants was damp. Sitting on the examine table, she wrestled terror like Jacob an angel, and when the nurse ordered her to remove her pants, she did so with great reluctance, already knowing what she would find but hoping to God she was wrong.

"Oh," the nurse said in a startled tone and covered her mouth with her hand. That told Lisa everything she needed to know. She steeled her nerves and looked down at herself.

Her underwear and the insides of her thighs were slick with blood.

Lisa was not squeamish, even when it came to herself, but in that moment, vertigo stole over her, and her heart rate increased exponentially.

Fifteen minutes later, Principal Bodner, a wispy man with delicate features, stood next to the nurse, his hand pressed to his mouth and his eyes wide. Lisa sat on the edge of the exam table in a hospital style johnny and socks, her eyes pointed ashamedly down at her hands, which were balled in her lap. Her father was currently en route to pick her up.

"It does seem," the nurse started haltingly, "that you started your period today."

"But she's four," Principal Bodner said - his voice was high and effeminate. "How is that even _possible?"_

Lisa started to speak, but the nurse cut her off with something similar to what she herself would have said. "It _is_ rare, but there have been cases of girls as young as six or seven reaching full maturity. I've never heard of it happening to a four-year-old, but it's really not as mind-blowing as you might think."

Principal Bodner lifted his brows and held his hand to the center of his chest. "Speak for yourself, sister." He sighed heavily and minced away. "I _so_ need a Cosmo right now."

When he was gone, the nurse laid a comforting hand on Lisa's shoulder. "How do you feel?" she asked.

Lisa took a quick inventory of her aches, pains, and discomforts, and then sighed. "Bloated and and crampy."

"The joys of menstruation," the nurse said in a tone that bespoke sympathy and understanding.

 _What have I done to myself?_ Lisa thought. Inexplicable tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them back.

"Midol works best for me," the nurse said, "it's an over the counter -"

"I know what Midol is," Lisa said a little more sharply than she meant.

The nurse didn't miss a beat. "Every woman is different, but that's one of the best drugs on the market."

Drugs.

Ha.

Like the one that was causing... _this_.

As soon as she got home, she was going to start work on a hormone suppressant to counteract the effects of the _Zyclandizo._

That, or take a nap.

Probably a nap.


	3. Someone Else

Lincoln walked through the front door at 3:15pm, a full five minutes ahead of Lucy, Lola, and Lana. He didn't mean to leave them choking on his dust, but he was a naturally fast walker...especially when he was worried, and since getting the text from his Dad that Lisa was _ill_ and had to be picked up from school, he was worried sick. Literally. He didn't think he was the nervous pussy everyone loved making him out to be, but he sure felt like it as he trudged through the rest of his day, then raced home.

As soon as he got there, he went up the stairs and to Lisa's room, ignoring Lori and Leni on the couch. Her door was closed, and for a moment he hesitated, then knocked anyway. "Enter," she called; he turned the knob and slipped in, finding her mixing chemicals at her lab, her back to him.

"Hey," he said uncertainly, and noted the way she tensed slightly before relaxing and turning. Her face was wan and drawn, and Lincoln's heart sank into his stomach. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice edged with worry.

She opened her mouth, closed it again, then turned away as if in shame. "No," she said, "I am not."

Even though she admitted to him earlier that she didnt feel well, her forthrightness still knocked him off balance - he wasn't used to her being so open. "W-What's wrong?" he asked.

She didn't reply for a long time, and Lincoln was just about to ask again when she said, "Draw up a chair. It's a fairly long story."

Looking around, he spotted a pink plastic chair that was the perfect size for Lily, but way too small for him. He didn't see anything else, so he grabbed it, pulled it over next to Lisa, and sat, his butt spilling over the seat and his knees pressed awkwardly together. Lisa filled a beaker with green liquid, then added a pinch of something from an eyedropper that made it bubble. He waited impatiently for her to say something; when she didn't, he said her name.

"One moment."

The concoction settled down and was still. "Earlier this month," she said and turned to him, "I accepted a contract from the Pentagon to create a human growth hormone. It was intended to stimulate the pituitary gland. You know what this is, correct?"

Lincoln swallowed. Human growth hormone? Oh, God, something told him he wasn't going to like what she had to tell him. "Yeah," he said over his racing heart, "I know what it is."

Nodding, Lisa continued. "I injected myself with it and now my body is producing hormones that it should not be producing. That was expected, but I fear that things are getting a touch out of hand. Today, I...I commenced menstruation."

Horror filled Lincoln's chest and he tried to speak, but wound up sputtering wordlessly instead. "I've also been experiencing mood swings, heightened aggression, and sexual desire. I am, in essence, going through puberty. Right now, I am working on a chemical to temporarily suppress these hormones while I develop something to stimulate my pituitary gland, thus returning myself to normal."

Lincoln was speechless; a thousand thoughts, a thousand questions, battered against the inside of his skull like angry storm surge. "Let me get this straight," he said, "you used yourself as a human guinea pig -"

"I realize how foolhardy it was, Lincoln," she said tightly, "there's no need to rub it in."

He wasn't rubbing it in, but he ignored that - she was on her period, and he knew damn well not to argue or reason with a woman on the rag. " - Now your body is producing hormones -"

"Yes," she said sharply, "don't reiterate everything I told you, Lincoln, it's irritating."

Fine. "Well...h-how dangerous is it?"

She didn't reply for a moment. "I'm not sure," she finally confessed, "it is doing, more or less, what it was designed to do. I believe the problem is my underdeveloped body and its reaction thereto. I did not take into account that it could possibly jumpstart puberty since I hadn't gone through it yet. I've noticed growth in my breasts and hair in certain places, all of which correspond with natural puberty; I have yet to undergo any abnormal symptoms, but fear that it is possible I may, hence why I am working on an antidote."

Okay. That made sense. You know what didn't? "Why did you do it on yourself? I'm not trying to...to scold you or anything, but that's insane."

Lisa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I know," she said, "I've been dealing with feelings of melancholy and motonony as of recent, and it seemed...exciting."

Lincoln blinked. "Melancholy?" he asked. "Why?"

The little girl let go of her nose and tilted her head thoughtfully back. "I've grown weary of my pursuits and am generally dissatisfied with my station in life. I am an adult locked in a child's body, bound by the rules and regulations that govern children without enjoying the _benefits_ of childhood. I see how happy and carefree my peers are, and it bothers me. I cannot establish connections with them, or with my own family, and sometimes I feel as though I'm trapped. Imprisoned. Not an adult, not a child, but some bastard mix." Her eyes shimmered wetly and her lips began to quiver. "I don't like being me," she said, and broke down, her head hanging and her shoulders shaking.

Lincoln blinked in surprise, then frowned as her words, and their meaning, sank in. He reached out a tentative hand and laid it on her shoulder, his body leaning forward. "Lise," he said softly, not knowing what else he _could_ say.

The little girl trembled under his touch as sobs wracked her tiny frame. She took her glasses off, tossed them onto the desk, and pressed one hand to her face, making a visible effort to get control of herself, but winding up crying even harder. "I wish I was someone else sometimes," she moaned.

Having so many siblings, Lincoln had found himself consoling broken hearts and broken spirits more often than he could count, and every single time, he felt so lost that he wanted to weep too. Not matter what he did, no matter what he said, it always felt like too little, and contrived as well. Lisa was obviously hurting - and in a way that he'd never dealt with before. Lori desolate because Bobby broke up with her? Been there. Lynn upset because her archrival Amber Paulson ran circles around her on the football field? Done that. Lisa suffering from self-loathing and depression because she felt trapped in her own head? That was a new one...and a scary one. He looked at her now, sobbing into her hand, her sounds of misery like sandpaper on his soul, and did the only thing he could think of: He gently spun her chair around, took her into his arms like an overgrown baby, and held her close to his chest.

"Shhhh," he said self-consciously, tears filling his own eyes. He had no idea that his little sister felt this way, and though he had no way of even suspecting, he felt that he should have known, that he should have spotted something wrong with her and acted sooner.

Well...he was here now, and he would do whatever it took to make her feel better. "Lise," he said and brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. Her crying had tapered to siffles, and her breathing was ragged. She held her hand over her eyes to, he imagined, hide her shame. He tried to think of something to follow with, but nothing came, so he stroked the side of her face and blinked against the water standing in his eyes. His relationship with Lisa wasn't the closest...they lived in the same house but were strangers in many ways...yet he loved her and appreciated her for who she was, not what she could or wanted to be.

"You might not like who you are," he said finally, "but I do. You're unique, and unique things are always the best." He thought back to what she said about not being able to connect with her peers, and remembered her friend Darcy. She was the only child her own age that she was anything approaching close with, and probably the one she watched the most, the one she thought of most when she compared herself to her classmates. "There are a million Darcys, but only one Lisa. You're special and different, and that's what makes you great."

Lisa lowered her hand and looked at him, her eyes shining with tears, then at his chest, as though unable to meet his gaze. "I don't feel very special," she said, a hollow quality to her voice. "I-I'm just overly emotional right now, but sometimes I _do_ resent my intelligence, and sometimes I feel as though it's a prison, and I'm its sole inmate. I-I'm all over the place at the moment. I apologize."

"No," Lincoln said, "you don't have to apologize. I can see how it must affect you. Your mind works on such a higher level than everyone else's, and that kind of...isolates you."

"Exactly," she said. "I feel so alone sometimes. Normally it doesn't bother me, but then I look at Darcy and the other children and it occurs to me how abnormal I am. I try to be like they are, but I simply can't. There are moments when I want so badly to be a kid that it makes me physically ill. I want to do things that are age appropriate, and I want to enjoy them, but when I try, it becomes readily apparent that those things are just not for me. Normal, natural, everyday things made for children, to entertain them and make them happy...and my dysfunctional brain denies me them. It alienates me from everyone, even my own family. Even my own so-called best friend." Tears spilled down her cheeks and her lips started to quiver again. She looked so small and helpless, so sad, and Lincoln's heart broke. She closed her eyes and sucked her lips into her mouth, then swallowed her emotions.

How could he respond to that? She wasn't wrong about being abnormal. That word is often used with negative connotations, but it simply means _not normal_. Lisa was _not_ normal - normal four-year-olds are still learning to speak, for Christ's sake, something Lisa mastered, save for a slight lisp, before she was even three. Normal four-year-olds sleep with stuffed animals and nightlights and ask a million questions a minute because they're still learning about the world around them. In a way, Lisa was a normal four-year-old when it came to inquisitiveness, only instead of sticking a fork into an outlet to see what will happen, she combined lead nitrate and hydrochloric acid. In every other way, however, she was as unlike other kids her age as night is from day.

"Your brain isn't dysfunctional, Lisa," he said, because that was the easiest place to start, "it just works differently, a-and that's a good thing. The world needs people like you. If we didn't have Lisa Louds, we'd still be sitting in caves and striking two rocks together. You're not like everyone else and that's not bad. I'm sure it can be lonely and frustrating, but it's just…" he trailed off. He felt like he was fumbling and getting himself tangled like a fish in a net - the moment he tried to get out, the more ensnared he would become. He had to power through, though, because Lisa needed him to. "It's who you are. You can't control it, you can't change it, you just have to accept it - the good, the bad, and the ugly. You're a genius and you will never be "normal." When you're sixteen, other girls will be into shoes and the mall, you won't be. When you're thirty, other women will be into driving minivans and drinking boxed wine, you won't be. You're you, Lisa."

She darted her eyes from his face to his chest, the wheels and cogs of her mind turning as she considered his words. "I'm kind of a geek," he said, offering an example, "and I've made peace with that because...you _have_ to. I like what I like, I'm into the things I'm into. I never sat down and made a concerted effort to like something. I never forced a square peg into a round hole. I just...naturally enjoy things. It's beyond my control, and I can either fight back against it and cause myself undue grief, or just accept it and move on."

Did that sound dismissive? _Just get over it, little girl, you're a nerd and you'll never be anything else, accept it and stop sniveling._ He didn't want to to take it like that. "I-I'm just saying, we're all who we are. It's not always easy being a genius or a comic book geek, but that's what we have to work with, and we just need to make the best of it."

He looked down at Lisa; she stared thoughtfully at his chest. "You're right," she said and turned her face up to him, and he was surprised when she smiled brightly, her face, so recently haggard, glowing beautifically. He couldn't help but smile too. "And quite the deep thinker," she added appreciatively.

Lincoln blushed at the compliment. "Sometimes. And sometimes I don't think deeply enough."

"We're all guilty of that," Lisa said. "I didn't think deeply enough before I injected myself with this horrid compound." She sat up on his knee and took a deep breath. "Speaking of which, I really should get back to work."

Lincoln started to agree, but his words cut off in a breathless _humph_ when she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Relaxing, he smiled and hugged her back, his hand rubbing a lazy circle between her shoulder blades. "Thank you, Lincoln," she said and pulled away. Her eyes brimmed with something he couldn't name, a mixture of love, adoration, and something else, something that made his heartbeat speed up. "You've been a tremendous help. I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me."

"Any time," he said.

She favored him with a strange, dreamy expression, then got up and went over to her desk. Lincoln stayed where he was for a moment, then got up. At the door, Lisa's voice stopped him. "Lincoln?" There was a hint of apprehension.

"Yeah?" he asked.

She didn't immediately reply; she pointed her eyes indecisively to the floor. "Could you...please not tell the others about what we discussed?"

"All of it?" he asked. "Or just you being down? I was actually going to call a sibling meeting to let everyone know about you…" here he trailed off and blushed… "being on your period so they -"

Lisa nodded curtly. "I understand. I fully intend to gather everyone and apologize for my behavior. I would like to do so, however, _after_ I've resolved the issue."

That was fair. "I won't say anything." He frowned. "I'm kind of worried, though. About...about you."

"I'll be fine," she said, "I hope. I should finish the antidote shortly and will know _hopefully_ within twenty-four hours if it's taken effect. Until then, I will keep you abreast of my progress." She smiled warmly, the corners of her lips curling up. "Is that satisfactory?"

Lincoln had seen Lisa's smile before (infrequently), but he'd never realized how bright and beautiful it was. "Yes," he said, "that is satisfactory."

"Very well," she said.

In the hall, Lincoln shut the door behind him and leaned against it, his grin falling as cold, slimey dread nestled in his stomach. He made a bit of an understatement when he said he was worried; in the rush of dealing with Lisa's emotional breakdown, he'd forgotten that she injected herself with a potentially dangerous chemical. Now, though, it laid heavy on his mind.

He'd have to keep an eye on her.

Sighing, he started for his room but ducked down the stairs instead; he was thirsty and there was a Coca-Cola hidden behind a package of wilted lettuce in the fridge with his name on it.

Trying to forget about Lisa and the poison even now flowing through her, Lincoln went down the steps and into the living room; Lori sat cross-legged on the sofa as she had been, presumably, since the got home, and Leni stared intently at the TV, where Dr. Phil stood in the middle of his set, head thrown back and hands up, palms facing the ceiling and fingers hooked. " _I'm Dr. Phil!"_ he screamed to thunderous applause. Ugh, this guy was still on? He was almost as bad as Judge Judy - his grandmother _loved_ Judge Judy when she was alive. And Law and Order. And all those other lame-o police dramas. You ever notice how every show is a cop show? That's a slight exaggeration, but the number of programs focusing on law enforcement is staggering when you look at it. Americans _love_ their cop shows. Medical dramas, too.

In the kitchen, he opened the fridge, bent, and rummaged around until he found the Coke he stashed away. Ha.

At the counter, he cracked the can open and leaned against with a sigh, his thoughts going to Lisa, namely the sadness in her eyes and to the broken way she said _I don't like being me._ A ripple of sympathy went through his stomach and he frowned. He suddenly found himself wanting to disobey her and tell everyone else because, c'mon, this is serious, but knowing his sisters, one would slip up and do or say something, thereby ensuring Lisa found out he betrayed her trust.

Would it be worth it, though?

He wasn't sure, but Lisa's depression came later; right now, if he was going to worry, it needed to be about that junk she injected herself with. She said it was doing what she intended for it to do, but that her body was so underdeveloped that it was wreaking havoc on it. Let's take a step back and think about that. The pituitary gland is responsible for the secretion of hormones that facilitate growth and regulate many bodily functions, including, if he remembered correctly, body temperature. _That_ was a big one, because if your temp goes too far in either direction, you die. Too hot? Dead. Too cold? Dead. He didn't think to ask _when_ she injected herself with it, but he assumed that at the very least, it was the day before yesterday - long enough for her to start menstruating. If her body temp hadn't gone haywire already, which it doesn't seem to have, she very well _might_ be okay on that front, but you never knew; it could spike at the drop of a hat.

Hopefully this antidote worked.

Until he knew for sure, he was going to worry himself sick.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't realize he had company until someone cleared their throat. Eight of his sisters stood before him, hands on their hips, brows angled down in angry Vs, glowers, glares, and dirty looks abounding. Uh...what did I do?

Lola bent at the waist and leaned toward him, he leaned back. "What is _that?_ " she asked and nodding at the Coke in his hand.

Oh, right; he totally forgot.

"It's a pop," he said with a sheepish smile.

"There hasn't been pop in the house in days," Lori said, "where'd you get it?"

Many wars, or so Lincoln thought, began when there were too many people, and too few resources. At least that's how wars started in the Loud house; ten people all wanting the same quarter, spot in the van (or on the couch), or last slice of pizza, and none willing to give it up. He knew how this was going to end, so he did the only logical thing: Lifted the soda to his lips and started to chug.

"He's drinking it all!" Lola cried. Suddenly, eight angry girls were on top of him, slapping his hand, his face, each other, screaming and yelling over top of each other like zombies for brains. He tried to twist away, but Luan pinned him to the counter and Luna grabbed his wrist; pain snaked up his arm and he cried out. Leni shoved Lori out of the way and snatched the can, only to be blindsided by Lynn; the older girl fell to the floor and the can went with her, landing on its side and spilling brown gold onto the linoleum.

"The pop!" Lucy cried and dove for it, but Lana speared her in midair, and they both crashed to the ground. Lincoln kicked Luan in the shin, and she doubled over. He windmilled his arm, broke Luna's grasp, and rammed his head into her chest; the air left her in a rush and she stumbled back, slipping in the spilled soda and going down. Heart racing, Lincoln went for the can, but Lynn grabbed him by his cowlick and yanked, bringing tears to his eyes.

Uh-uh.

Whipping around, he drove his fist into her shoulder, and she wailed, her hand releasing. He turned to the can just as Lori grabbed it and streaked into the living room.

Lana staggered to her feet and pointed. "She's getting away!"

This was bullshit. That was _his_ soda! He hid it away fair and square. He grabbed Lana by the back of her overalls, flung her into the cabinets under the sink, and started after Lori, his other sisters hot on his trail. Ahead, Lori reached the front door and clawed at the knob, throwing a frightened glance over her shoulder and crying out. Lincoln was almost to her when someone snatched a handful of his shirt and pushed him aside; he crashed into the back of the couch and sank to his knees.

Lori screamed when her sisters slammed her like a tsunami (or sisternami, lol), the can flying out of her hand and arching through the air end over end, spilling precious Coke onto the seething mass of writhing sisters. Lincoln watched with wide eyes and let out a long, protracted "Noooooooooo!" then leapt for it, sailing high into the air and catching it like a forward pass and landing on his feet. Yes!

He threw back his head…

Aaaaaaaand it was empty.

Grief washed through him like bitter wine; he sank to his knees and hung his head in a display of sorrow. "My soda," he lamented.

Then Lynn speared him from behind and smashed his face into the floor.


	4. Strange Feelings

**No Happiness: You're right, I do write Lincoln as a "super empathetic faggot" a lot, but I only do it because I personally think empathy is a wonderful thing to have and that our world would be a lot better off with more of it going around. I don't** _ **always**_ **write him that way - see** _ **An American Tragedy, The 'Cest Kids, No Way Home, 11 Kids and Counting, 11 Kids and Counting: The Lost Tapes, Frenzy, The Legend of Liver Eating Loud, Falling in the Forest, The Living and the Dead, Reeling in the Years, After School Special, Siblings With Benefits, The Big Daddy stories, Not So Beautiful Corruption,**_ **and** _ **American History Loud.**_

 **As for the normal eleven-year-old boy thing: No, I don't write him as a normal eleven-year-old boy because normal eleven-year-old boys are lame (no offense to any reading this). Plus, the show itself routinely depicts Lincoln and the sisters displaying insight and self-awareness that I, personally, rarely see in adults, let alone children. The Louds have never struck me as "normal" children and my writing reflects that.**

 **I also age them up mentally to make them more interesting...and also because if I demanded exacting realism from myself, a story like this would be pretty fucked up. Maybe that's my way of adding a layer of separation between the myself and the events of my Loudcest stories - if I visualized them as real children, I wouldn't want to write it.**

 **Guest: I do plan to one day write sequels for** _ **Drunk on You**_ **and** _ **Pageant of Hearts.**_ **Right now I'm working on an aged up Lilycoln story tentatively titled** _ **The One I Adore**_ **.**

Saturday morning, Lisa went straight to the lavatory on waking, locking the door behind her - it was just past 7am, and her siblings had yet to stir. Apparently, or so she heard, there was an altercation over something trivial, as always, and father confined them to their rooms for the remainder of the day. There were injuries, she was told (by Dad): Lana sustained a concussion, Lori's wrist was sprained, and Lincoln's olfactory organ (street name _nose_ ) suffered an abrasion that led to the expulsion of blood.

 _That_ angered her.

Greatly.

After their discussion the previous day, Lisa had been unable to think of little else aside from her brother, pausing again and again in her work to savor the memory of being held in his arms, and to linger over his soft, encouraging words. She was aware, of course, that he was not stupid, but she was surprised by his insights and by the depth of his thoughts. He was more profound than he looked at first glance, and Lisa found that _very_ attractive, his blood relation to her notwithstanding. In fact, as she slipped her thumbs into the waistband of her pajama bottoms and slid them down her legs, she recalled dreaming of him in the night, the type of dream that resulted in what is commonly known as _nocturnal emissions_.

A "wet dream." In it, she lay back on her bed while Lincoln made love to her, his eyes filled with endless love and tenderness. She couldn't remember much of it, only that meeting his gaze and holding his hand awoke such intense feelings in her that they lingered long after she roused. Even now, she ached to experience it again...this time for real.

Naked from the waist down, she gripped the string dangling from the tampon and pulled it out slowly, wincing at the alien sensation of it sliding against her vaginal walls. When it was out, she held it up to the light; save for a tiny spot of rust-colored blood, it was clean. Hope blossomed in her chest like a spring flower - aside from the arousal still pulsating between her legs, she felt like her conventional self: The irritability was gone (or rather reduced to normal levels), as, too, were the mood swings: She'd been awake for nearly an hour gathering the courage to come in here and check the tampon, and in that time her emotional state remained stable. It seemed that the antidote, for lack of a better term, was working.

She let out a pent-up breath and bowed her head. Thank the heavens, she was beginning to genuinely worry.

The arousal, however, was cause for concern, though she imagined it would filter out of her system like a toxin, probably within 24 to 48 hours. For now, though, it crashed against her loins like an angry tide, so strong that she pressed her knees together and gritted her teeth. Lincoln would be in his room at present, clad in only his underwear, his body warm from the covers, his flesh smooth, creamy, like fresh linens. She imagined splaying her fingers on his chest and rubbing slowly across its width, her palms kissing his skin, rising and falling as they molded to his dips and ridges. She saw herself placing soft, wet kisses to his stomach, saw his erection stirring and beginning to swell tight against the inside of his cotton briefs like a mythological colossus waking from an eternal slumber. Ooooh, mother of mercy, she wanted to touch it - rub it like a magic lamp and squeeze it through his underwear, to trace it with her fingers and then release it from its prison, whereupon she would straddle him and allow him ingress to the deepest chambers of her body.

Sickly heat radiated from between her legs in waves and natural lubricant trickled down the insides of her thighs like rivers of lava.

The only thing stopping her from going to him was the near certainty that he would reject her owing not only to their shared lineage but also to her diminutive age. The first one had never been a problem, but the second was a constant source of grief, and currently, she drew a sad sigh and let it out in a steady rush. The prospect of him turning her away twisted in her stomach like a knife, and for the first time she was forced to consider the possibility that she was not simply lusting for him while also finding him agreeable, but was instead, perhaps, in love with him.

A sharp pang tore through her stomach like an exclamation point to her previous train of thought.

Hm.

She had never been in love prior, so it was uncharted territory. She'd found males aesthetically pleasing (Hugh the tutor was a _fine_ looking man), but she had not, as far as she could recall, _felt_ for them as she felt now for Lincoln. Calling up an image of his face made her heart race, and remembering the warmth he exuded as he consoled her the day before, the gentle timbre of his voice, the feeling of hs fingers running through her hair…

Where was she again?

Oh, right - those things made her feel like a bubbling liquid in a beaker and brought a slow, lazy smile to her usually neutral lips. Those things were divorced from sexual desire, though his holding her _was_ a turn on. Had her fantasies, as they were, been strictly confined to physical matters, she could have passed them off as pure, dumb, biological urges, but they were not. Since waking, and indeed before retiring the previous night, she had observed a strange and unsettling phenomena in her cardiac organ accompanied by gastrointestinal distress, sleeplessness, and a general breakdown in mental faculties, all of which were exacerbated by Lincoln's presence. She didn't know exactly what being in love felt like, but from what she'd heard second hand, it was very much like this.

Something, maybe the superstitious "morality" inborn in all people, told her that she should be alarmed and disgusted with herself, but she was not, as she understood that genetics mean very little until you combine them. She and Lincoln were two different people with two different genetic make-ups that were similar given their relation, but not identical. If they were to attempt to procreate, there would be an issue, but otherwise...what difference did it make?

To her, none. To Lincoln, however, it would probably make _all_ the difference. And even if that pratfall was removed from the equation, there was still that fact that she was only four, a literal toddler. She glanced at the mirror over the sink, but could not see her reflection - she grabbed the pink plastic step stool from next to the toilet, dragged it over, and climbed on: Even then, she barely reached. What she saw was not what she felt, a child, barely old enough to not be considered a baby. The disodience between her exterior and interior always made her dizzy, which is why she rarely ever looked at herself for long.

How can one person be so blamed _conflicted?_

She sighed and looked away from the mirror. Of course Lincoln wouldn't be interested in her even when setting aside their relation. She couldn't say she blamed him, though it was hard not to resent the fact that he, like everyone else, still only saw her as a child and not as the..being...she really was. She wouldn't go so far as to say she was an adult, but for all intents and purposes, was she not?

Her heart beat a throbbing rhythm and her stomach rumbled with nerves. She wasn't exaggerating when she said that sometimes she didn't like being herself; there were moments she wished with keen earnesty that she was someone else, anyone else - fully adult, fully child, it didn't matter, just someone other than Lisa Loud. And now was one of those moments. If she was, say, Sam, Luna's associate, or Carol Pingrey, Lori's, she would be able to collect the prize that was Lincoln was nary a worry. Even if she was still a close relation, Lynn perhaps, she would stand something of a chance. As it stood now, however, she had not a one.

Though her mood swings were past, she suddenly felt the neigh irresistible urge to cry. Lincoln was a beautiful individual - everything one could want in a potential partner - and owing to who she was, she would be forever denied him. If that doesn't make you want to cry, nothing will.

An idea struck her then, analogous to a sniper's bullet, and she jerked a harried glance at her reflection - its eyes were wide and its lips parted, lending it a mad air that sent a shiver down her spine.

That idea was to drug him.

With _Zyclandizo._

Not much, mind you, just enough to stimulate the increase of sexual hormones in his body. That way, he would, as they say, think more with his small head than his large one. He would, thereby, be aroused to the point that his inhibitions would be lessened, and engaging in intercourse with his four-year-old sister wouldn't seem the great evil it would otherwise. She knew from personal experience that it's difficult to be firm in one's morals when one is excessively "horny."

That seemed...unethical, though. In fact, it seemed downright _wrong._ Thinking on it, she suddenly found that she didn't want Lincoln to "want" her through chemical induction, she wanted him to want her on his own, because he saw in her favorable traits. In essence, you could say that she wanted something _real_ , not something artificially manufactured in a laboratory. She wanted to win him on her own, to earn his love and affection the way a normal woman would win and earn the feelings of a normal man. Science had been her life entire, and of science she had grown bored...even, perhaps, a tad disdainful. Science was, in a way, like a disease, and Lincoln - the happiness he woke inside of her as well, and the peace - was the cure. Using scientific methods to secure him would serve only to pervert the matter, to corrupt what she wanted most.

Sigh.

Matters of the heart are quite vexing, are they not?

She favored her reflection with hangdog eyes, then looked away, the roiling emotions she saw therein too raw, too frank, to meet. If she made a vy for Lincoln's hand, as it were, she would only be content to do it the old fashioned way.

Therein lie the problem. There was no way he would fall for her as she had fallen for him. She was not a fan of baseball, but living with Lynn, she'd picked up a few errant bits of information regarding the game, and she knew, roundabout, that three strikes eliminated a batter. Three strikes and you're out, as the kids say. Unfortunately, she had three strikes against her now: She was Lincoln's close co-specific; she was a practically still a baby; and she was unattractive. Her features were plain, her hair a matted mess, and her face consumed almost entirely by Coke bottle glasses that she once found charming, but now loathed. Lincoln was a heartfelt individual, and thus was not the type of boy to be "hung up" on appearance. If her homely face was the primary obstacle, she would be far, far better off.

It was not, though, and, pragmatically speaking, she would not even consider it. Being four and related to him were, in that exact order, the major speed bumps on the road to her happiness with Lincoln...and yes, the more she mulled the matter over, the more assured she became that she was indeed in love with her only brother. Could she _act_ on it, though, or would she be damned to pine from afar like an eighteenth century poet adoring his love from the shadows?

Commonsense told her to forget the topic - to focus her time and efforts on something worthwhile, and not a pretty pipe dream spun inside a celestial castle. Her heart, however, took precedence - for once in her life, it was louder than her brain, and at the present moment, it screamed at her to make a move on Lincoln, like a chessmaster closing in on the young, full-of-himself upstart. That was all fine and well, but _how_? Setting aside her flaws for the moment, she knew nothing about that peculiar ritual called courtship. She was not known for being forthright with her emotions, but she _had_ always found it easiest to speak one's mind frankly. If she was hungry, she said so. If she wanted to go outside for fresh air, she said so. Clear and direct communication is the key, she believed, to harmonious human relationships. The thought of sitting Lincoln down and telling him how she felt, as though she were simply telling him that she was tired and explaining why, however, filled her stomach with cold, clutching dread. From what little she knew, one does not simply state their romantic intentions for another, at least not outright, and at least not at first. It is supposed to be implicit. She did not do well with sublty, thus she did not think she could pull off a conventional pursuit.

Of course, backing up for a moment, she and Lincoln were already familiar with each other, unlike, for example, two not-related lovers. A boy sees a girl from across the room, finds her attractive, then approaches her and begins to talk to her so that he may learn more about her and thereby determine if she is worth pursuing. Lisa did not have the closest relationship with Lincoln, or her other siblings for that matter, but they were certainly _not_ strangers, even though it felt that way sometimes. There were underlying affections and feelings of fondness, tenderness, etc. They did not, then, have to build from the ground up, as there was already a fairly solid foundation on which to erect a romantic discourse.

Then you factor in her age and blood relation again, and it all falls apart, like a house of cards.

That, of course, could be argued to be a defeatist mindset, and one cannot succeed in such a mental state. If she wanted to win Lincoln's heart (and yes, his warm, erect, beautiful penis) she would have to think positively, and conduct herself not as a little girl who is assured of losing, but as a little girl who is assured of _winning._

How should she go about it, though? She scrunched her lips to the side and regarded her reflection as though it would supply an answer, but it only stared back at her, as though it expected the same of _her_.

I'm four years old and have no experience whatsoever with sex, romance, or the male species. Don't look at _me._

She was stumped, and when one is stumped, the only viable course of action is to seek the assistance of someone more well-versed than you. She doubted her mother would be of much help, as she would most likely find the idea of Lisa "dating" abhorrent (she would, of course, ask advice under the pretense of being interested in a boy who was not Lincoln). She could hear Mom now: _You're far too young for that sort of thing, honey._ Well, yes, if she were a normal four year old, she would absolutely agree. She was _not_ normal, however, and should be given special consideration.

Sudden indignation filled her chest and her hand curled into a fist. Our society is too goddamn set on using a one size fits all approach. People are not the same across the board, something that laws often do not take into consideration. Take...say….age of consent laws. They vary state by state, but generally eighteen is the standard - one who is eighteen is, in the eyes of the government, able to consent to sexual congress. Eighteen, however, is an arbitrary line in the sand that was drawn because, realistically, it had to be drawn _somewhere_. What differentiates an eighteen year old from a seventeen year old? Or a sixteen year old? Not damn much. Age, as they say, is a number, it all boils down to mental and emotional maturity - the summit of which can be reached at fifteen or twenty five or never at all. In layman's terms: There are those who are mature enough to make monumental decisions at sixteen, and those who are not mature enough at twenty or even later. She, Lisa felt, was old enough to give a man (or woman) her consent now, whether they were Lincoln or not. If she wanted to sleep with, say, Luna's roadie Chunk, she should damn well be able to.

Her numerical age, however, took precedence over everything else, and that struck her as so wrongheaded that it legitimately angered her. Yes, she realized she was a child, but God above, did they really have to treat her as such?

She took a deep breath and exhaled in a rush.

Anyway, back to matter at hand - and no more digressions. If she sought help from her mother, she would simply reprimand her. She needed someone else.

Someone like Lori.

Lori was, as far as Lisa was aware, the only one of her siblings with experience in the field of men. None of the others had ever so much as had a boyfriend; Lori not only did, but was sexually active with him. Granted, Lori made dubious choices, such as clinging to Bobby and conducting herself in a so-called "crazy girlfriend" manner, but beggars cannot be choosers.

There was, however, the matter of her recent hostility toward Lori, which would probably incline Lori away from helping her. She needed advice, though.

Sparing one last look at her reflection, she jumped down from the stool, returned it to its station betwixt the toilet and sink, and returned to her room. Glancing at Lily's crib, she was not surprised to find the infant awake and on her knees, face pressed to the bars. She cocked her head and smiled widely. " _Leee-sa,"_ she said.

"Good morning, Lily," Lisa said and crossed to her dresser, "I trust you slept well."

Lisa did not use gibberish when speaking to Lily - she employed complete sentences and words longer than one syllable. Child learn by observing the world around them and by mimicking the sounds they heard, and if you want one to speak well, you must first speak well to them. She selected a pair of plain green underwear from her top drawer and a pair of red corduroy pants from the one beneath, then crossed to the closet and took out a green sweater. As she dressed, Lily pulled herself to a standing position and peered over the rail. " _Leee-sa."_

Pulling the sweater over her head, Lisa went over to the crib and offered her little sister a smile. "Lily."

Lily returned Lisa's smile with one of her own. " _Leee-sa."_

Lisa leaned in a little and tapped Lily's nose. "Lily."

Gripping the rail, Lily bounced up and down. What must it be like to be her? She had not a care in the world, and lacked the self-awareness to know what her station was in life - to know that she had no rights, as a child. Too young to worry about things like love, rejection, and melancholia.

Too young to realize what an amazing person their brother was; too young to appreciate him.

Hm.

Perhaps the grass is _not_ always greener on the other side of the fence.

Reaching into the crib, she picked her sister up and grimaced at the strain of her weight. "You're getting cumbersome," she said and sat her down. "Are you hungry?"

Lily laughed.

"I'll take that as a yes. Let's go get some breakfast."

Holding the infant's hand, Lisa led her downstairs.

* * *

Lincoln Loud usually slept late on Saturdays, but today he was up before the dawn, sitting in be with an Ace Savvy comic open in his lap and the lamp on the nightstand casting warm amber light across the bed. His eyes were grainy and a twinge over his left eye threatened to turn into a full-blown headache if left unchecked. He wore only his underwear, and a slight frown as he stared absently at the panel in front of him, seeing but not registering, the last vestiges of the nightmare still lingering in his mind like morning fog. He sighed, looked at the closed door, and considered going to check on Lisa, but decided against it - he looked in on her when he first woke, and she was sleeping peacefully, not a sign that anything was wrong in sight. She would be up in an hour or so; he'd see her then.

He looked at the comic once more and pursed his lips - Ace and One Eye Jack were battling The Thompson Twins, a pair of Nazis conjoined at the hip and deformed by generations of inbreeding. They looked weak as hell, but they were actually the most powerful foes Ace had. Far more powerful than Taco, Murray Head, Falco, and The Human League. He disinterestedly flipped ahead and spoiled the issue for himself: The Thompson Twins lay in a twitch heap on the ground, Ace and One Eyed Jack standing over them to gloat.

Oh well. He didn't really care about this crap right now anyway; he was worried about Lisa - especially after the dream. In it, he stood helplessly at her bedside as she thrashed and writhed in agony, her face beet red and her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes, filled with coming death. He remembered looking into them the day before as he held her in his arms, and a strange feeling clutched at the lining of his stomach, like hooked talons. He also remembered the soul withering horror he felt as, in the nightmare, he watched Lisa dying from that stuff she injected, and the stinging tears he came awake with.

For some reason he couldn't explain, he kept going back to the previous afternoon, to the insecurities she revealed and the pain she shared, to the sadness in her eyes, then the glowing warmth as his words sank in and took effect. He wished now that he'd held her a little longer, and maybe peppered her forehead with tender kisses.

He contented himself with the fact that she obviously felt better by the time he left - he didn't feel like he did much, but he did enough, and for now that would have to do.

An itch snaked up the side of his nose, and he mindlessly scratched it, the touch sending red pain into the center of his skull and tearing a gasp from his throat. When Lynn tackled him that last time yesterday, his face became _very_ intimate with the floor, leading to a sticky situation. Get it?

He busted his nose, is what I'm saying. He wasn't mad at Lynn, though; when she saw what she did - that _oh, shit, I went too far_ moment - her face went white and remorseful tears welled in her eyes, which was enough to satisfy him that she was truly sorry. Things just got out of hand, the way they're wont to do. No big.

He'd just get her back the next time they played football - throw the ball at her chest or something. _Oh, I'm so sorry, Lynn, I didn't mean to drill you so hard you flew back and smacked your head off the ground. Here, let me help you up. Oops, forgot I was wearing Luan's joy buzzer._

Bloody noses sucked, but Lori got it worse: She sprained her wrist _and_ twisted her ankle. Her hand dangled like a gay man's. _Heeeey._

A wan smile touched his lips and he took a deep breath through his nose. Don't worry about Lisa, she's fine, and stop thinking about kissing her. She's your sister and it's not weird, but dwelling on it kind of is.

Even so, he envisioned himself smothering her in kisses. _It's okay, Lisa; I love you for who you are._

That was true, he did, and he didn't want her to dislike herself, but can we walk back the kissing stuff, please?

He looked at the comic, figured he might as well give up, then closed it and sat it on the nightstand. Maybe he should check on Lisa anyway - God knows a lot can happen in an hour. Since he last peeked in, she could have grown to twice her normal size and spiked a 700 degree fever and he wouldn't know because he was in here pussyfooting around, thinking about how he wished he kissed her and played with her hair.

Ew, dude, really? You need to go back to bed and wake up right this time.

Have a Snickers, you're not you when you're hungry.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand - it was just after 6:30 and the first rays of the morning sun were creeping across Franklin Avenue like clinging vines.

Alright, I'll go check on her.

Getting up, he went to the door and eased it open - the hinges squeaked and stealhily opening it came second nature. He poked his head out, a rabbit emerging from its burrow and scouting for danger, then slipped out and crept to Lisa's room, his heart racing and the back of his neck tingling as though he were doing something wrong.

At her door, he paused, listened, then wrapped his fingers around the knob and turned, pushing it open and sticking his head in - the room was dark, Lisa's lab, computer, chair, and Lily's crib vague and indistinct shapes. He slid in and tiptoed to Lisa's bed. In the spill of a nightlight, her face was smooth and at peace, her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted. Warm affection flooded his chest, and a slow smile spread across his lips. He pressed his hand lightly to her forehead to check her temperature and nodded to himself - normal.

For a moment he lingered, staring down at her and feeling a strange and powerful mix of emotions - love, longing, and sadness. She didn't know it, but she really _was_ great. An acquired taste, maybe, and not for everyone, but great nonetheless.

He turned away and forced himself into the hall when the urge to crawl into bed with her and hold her in his arms came upon him like a tidal wave. For some reason, it bothered him, even though there was nothing wrong with hugging your little sister when she was feeling sad. He'd done it to Lola, Lana, and Lucy a million times in the past, but right now…

Cutting that thought off, he shook his head and went into the bathroom - since he was already up, he might as well catch a shower.

In the bathroom, he shut the door (leaving in unlocked in case someone absolutely _had_ to go while he was indisposed), stripped out of his undies, and turned the water on, fiddling with the knobs until the temp was perfect - not blisteringly hot, but not bitch-warm either. That meant lukewarm. Cucks take lukewarm showers.

For the first time that morning, he noticed his erection - it was tall and proud, like the masthead of a ship at sail. A boner's kind of a hard thing to overlook, but when you're in the middle of puberty and pop one every time a breeze rolls in, you tend to tune them out. Morning, Log, he thought sarcastically and patted it. That's what he called it when it first started getting hard (like, a year ago or whatever). Get it? Lincoln? Log? He stopped when he realized how dumb it was. I mean, the word 'log' is slang for poop. _Damn it, Washington, you left your log in the toilet again._ His dick wasn't shit, so…

Then again, he'd never really tested it out. It did its job in regards to waste expulsion, but it was still unvetted when it came to sex with a girl. Being a normal boy, he was naturally a little...anxious about his equipment, so he did an exhaustive Google search and was pretty sure that he was about average for his age: The median length of an erect adult penis is 5.5 inches - he was packing a solid 3.5 fully sprung...and he hadn't even fully gone through puberty yet.

Of course when he was with his friends he fronted like he had nine inches - because _all_ of the boys he knew had nine *eyeroll* Poppa Wheelie's dick was "just over twelve inches." Sure it is, buddy, you got a bridge you wanna sell me too?

Under the spray, he grabbed the family bodywash, squirted some into his hands (he had a loofa in his room, he just forgot it), and lathered up. One of the sucky things about living with ten sisters (nine, since Lily was too young to have a say) was that everything in the house was girl-specific. Take this body wash. Lavender-lilac scent. Of course it's going to be girly because they rule the roost. He was the only guy (Dad didn't count; he'd been around women so long he practically was one), so when it came time to get a big bottle of communal body wash, it was _always_ going to be some girl smelling stuff.

Same goes with snacks. He liked Cheese Nips, but everyone else like Cheese-Its, so guess whose opinion got overruled? Actually, Lynn liked Cheese Nips too, but still, two people vs eight - it's not a matter of gender so much as it is majority. On the other hand, Luan liked glazed doughnuts and everyone else, him included, like chocolate - guess who got the shaft on _that_ one? Hey, Luan, dought _nots_ , get it? Because you do _not_ get your favorite brand? Hahahahahaha.

What was that stuff with Lisa earlier?

That thought struck him like a speeding Mac truck with big ass spikes on the grill.

Nothing, it was nothing - he was thinking of how poorly she felt and wishing he'd done a little more to console her. That's all. Maybe it was his being, you know, sexually aware, but he was making this unnecessarily weird. Take...Lynn for instance. When they were younger, they bathed together because why not? Saves water and makes for cute photo ops. Now that they were older and both...awakened...that didn't happen. Ooooh, a better analogy would be Adam and Eve. Before Satan tricked them into eating that apple or whatever, they were innocent and blissfully unaware of their own nakedness. Two bites later - oh, shit, gurl, your tits are showing. When you're six, cuddling with your sister's just...cuddling with your sister. When you get older, it's like - she's my sister _and_ a girl and you don't cuddle with sister-girls.

Or maybe his overall philosophy was weird.

Hm.

Anyway, it felt weird to want to kiss and snuggle his little sister...even though it really shouldn't.

Deep down, though, it didn't feel quite so innocent. There was a depth to it, something beyond _hey, my sis is hurting, lemme put my arm around her shoulder._ He wanted to make her better and…

He couldn't articulate it. He was usually pretty good at expressing his feelings, but right now he found himself fumbling, his emotions building in his chest like steam in engine with no release valve.

Whatever, he was being dumb, which wasn't new. Hey, everyone gets stupid every now and then. Like Lynn with her superstitious crap. _Oh, my lucky underwear, can't spots ball without_ those. Shiver. She literally wore the same crusty pair of underwear for weeks on end. To be fair, he was pretty sure she washed them every other day - standing by the dryer in nothing but an oversized jersey and a pair of socks because idk, if any panties touched her that weren't those she'd die or something.

Done, he cut the water, grabbed the towel, and dried off, then wrapped it around himself and went to the sink. In the mirror, his face was pale and haggard, reminding him of a fresh corpse. _Give me your brains *shoves Leni out of the way to get to Lori*_ He wiped the condensation from the glass, grabbed his toothbrush, and squeezed some Crest onto the bristles. In the Loud house, hand-me-downs are a fact of life; his toothbrush used to belong to Lori - in fact, sometimes he could still taste her lunch from eighth grade. _So it's true, the middle school_ does _do Taco Tuesdays._

That was a joke - some things you just don't hand down. Like dental hygiene products. Or tampons.

Speaking of tampons, he wondered again if Lisa's antidote worked - the last he texted her, she said she'd just taken it and was going to sit up for a while _in case of adverse effects._ Was her period...over? Or did the drug not work?

He'd have to wait until she woke up to see.

Sigh.

He spat, rinsed with mouthwash, then went back to his room, the cold air raking goosebumps across his skin. He dressed in a pair of jeans and an orange polo shirt. The sun was fully up now, and by the time he was done, the house was coming awake - someone closed the bathroom door and the overhead fan kicked on.

Pulling on his shoes, he got up and went downstairs - surprisingly, Lori was already at the table, a bowl of cereal in front of her and her phone in her hand. She looked up when he came passed on his way to the kitchen, "Hey, Linc."

His eyes went to her left hand - it rested upon the table, her wrist puffy and light pink. "Hey," he said, "how're you feeling?"

She shrugged. "Eh. Walking kind of hurts. How's your nose?"

"Sniffing hurts."

She looked at him strangely, then laughed. "Does it really?"

"Nah. Touching it does, though."

"Don't touch it."

Lincoln favored her with a blank stare. "I hadn't thought of _that._ "

Before she could reply, he went into the kitchen, grabbed a bowl from the cabinet, and crossed to the island, where a box of generic Raisin Bran waited. _Morning, Linc-enstein, ready for a healthy, well-balanced breakfast?_ I'd rather Cocoa Puffs. _Fuck you then, kid._

He poured some in, added milk, took a spoon from the drying rack, and went into the dining room, sitting across from Lori. "Bobby says Ronnie Anne misses you," she said and took a bite of cereal. "You should text her."

Lincoln snorted. "The last time I texted her, she ignored me. She still hasn't responded."

Three months ago, Ronnie Anne and her familia (that's Spanish for family, which is appropriate, considering she's Mexican or something) struck out for the big city - Detroit. Before, he and Ronnie Anne were _kind_ of boyfriend/girlfriend apparent. You know how someone's an heir apparent? Like...the dictator's still alive but everyone kind of knows that he just _looooves_ the propaganda minister and he's probably going to succeed him. Yeah, he and RA weren't really bf-gf, but it was kind of heading in that direction. They hung out, played games and stuff, and really liked each other.

Then she moved and suddenly she didn't have time for him - she was too worried about her new friends, who were a bunch of assholes, by the way. He went to visit her once and she acted like she was ashamed of him or something. _Yeah, that's *gag* Lincoln. In a polo shirt. What a lame-ass whiteboy, huh, guys?_ It kind of hurt, but then he got over it. If that's how she wanted to be, fine. He wasn't going to torture himself over some a-hole like her - he'd find someone who wasn't ashamed to be seen with him.

"She's just busy," Lori said. Since RA was the Bobbster's sister, and Lori _loooooved_ Bobby, she kind of took her side a lot, making excuses for her and stuff. Just like she did for Bobby himself. That was her problem, not his.

Dipping his spoon in the bowl, he said, "I might text her later."

She nodded then went back to scrolling - Facebook, probably, or Snapchat (?) He didn't know, social media was dumb. The only thing he used was Discord (it's for gamers, ya know) but that was dumb too.

Was Lisa up yet? He really wanted to touch base with her. And speaking of Lise, did Lori know about Lisa's...premature visit from Aunt Flo? Lori was basically an honorary parent at this point, so it was possible Mom or Dad told her. Then again, maybe they didn't. Lisa specifically told him not to tell, but, ya know, she kind of tore Lori apart a couple times, and as far as he knew, Lori was still (as of yesterday) mad at her. She had every right, of course, but maybe knowing what Lisa was dealing with would soften the blow a little and take the edge off her anger. "So," he ventured, "you heard about Lisa, right?"

Lori flicked her eyes up from her phone and lifted her brows. "No," she said, "what'd she do this time?"

Well, that answers _that_ question. Now he wasn't so sure he should proceed, but Lori was looking at him expectantly. He started it now he had to keep going. It was for the best, though. "She started her period yesterday"

Lincoln couldn't honestly remember if he had ever seen anyone's jaw actually drop, but Lori's sure did. "What?"

He nodded. "Yeah. She told me. That's why Dad picked her up at school early...and why she's been really emotional."

Lori nodded slowly. "Yeah, that'll do it." She didn't sound overly sympathetic. "Did she do it herself?"

"No," Lincoln said quickly.

She hummed. "Well, four's _really_ early. Like...abnormally early. Girls usually start -'

"I know," Lincoln said and held up a hand, "no need to give me the talk. Dad and health class already did that."

Lori shrugged. "Whatever. It's really strange, though."

"Yeah, I guess," he said, and was silently grateful when she dropped the subject and went back to scrolling through her phone. Hopefully Lisa wouldn't be mad that he said something...better yet, hopefully Lori didn't say anything but instead took Lisa's mood swings into account when thinking about yesterday's epic smackdown.

He grinned to himself; it was mean as hell, but funny, too. Lisa _really_ roasted her and Luna, and did it in such a dry, technical way - it was strange, unique, surreal, and beautiful.

Just like Lisa herself.

That gave him pause.

Thinking of your sister as beautiful is okay, dude, so why does it feel...wrong?

Because you're a dumbass, that's why.

Can't argue there.

Before he was done with breakfast, the others started to filter in like shell-shocked refugees from a Third World war zone: Luna with messy hair and blinking eyes; Leni with her head hung and her shoulders slumped; Luan looking like she hadn't slept in a month; and…

Lincoln sputtered.

Lisa.

The little girl marched behind Luan with her eyes forward and her hands behind her back, her expression strained - ie, normal. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and her lips twitched almost like they were trying to smile but she wouldn't let them. "Hey, Lise," he said, "how are you feeling?"

"Good," she said simply, and he knew from that that the antidote worked. Whew. _That_ was a load off.

Now he could chill and go about his day.

He tried, he really did, but he kept thinking about Lisa…


	5. The Actualization of Lisa Loud

Lisa's breakfast consisted of store brand cereal and a grapefruit - she kept several on hand at all times, bought from the supermarket with her own money as, given her family's size, individuals were not allowed 'special treats' unless they used their own finances to purchase them. Lisa had a tidy nest egg in an offshore bank account and kept a small amount totalling less than ten thousand dollars in a safe hidden in her bedroom wall, which allowed her luxuries such as grapefruit and limes - she was fond of citrus.

She sat at the foot of the table and focused her attention on the meal before her and did her best to ignore her sisters, who stole wary and furtive looks at her as though she were a small, vicious mammal who would attack with little to no provocation. In their defense, she had "popped off" on many of them for seemingly no reason over the past several days. Thinking now of the hurtful things she said to Luna and Lori, she felt a twinge of remorse, and decided, in a flash, to gather them after breakfast and explain the situation to them, neglecting to mention her infatuation with Lincoln, of course. She also wouldn't touch on the...carnal desires the drug awakened, desires that she felt even now waxing and waning. Prior to coming downstairs with Lily, she was "wet" and her face was flush; at present, however, she was dry and her body temperature had retreated to normal levels. She doubted the lust was completely gone, but it was certainly draining away, slow yet inevitable.

It occurred to her, perhaps irrationally, to take advantage of her momentarily elevated hormones so that she may engage in sexual intercourse with Lincoln before losing her sex drive. Granted, without a libido, she wouldn't know the difference, but the more she pondered the matter (the more she pondered _Lincoln_ ), the more she wanted to share that experience with him. Not purely for the physicalities, you understand, but also, and perhaps _more_ for the deep _intimacy_ that comes with the act. Up until recently - last night, as she lay in bed thinking - she saw sex as merely a biological function little different from excrecion. It served a purpose, and it had its place, but it was a base and primal ritual that, Lisa believed, human beings put far too much value on. When her own sex drive became active, she saw it differently, but not by much - it was still a simple process, albeit one that she found desirable. After the events of yesterday afternoon, she began to meditate on it, and on Lincoln, and realized what a beautiful thing sex can be. It is _literally_ the joining of two people into one, and is, in fact, the closest in body, mind, and spirit (spirit being a metaphysical metaphor of course) that two _homo sapiens_ can possibly be.

She desired very much to share that with Lincoln, to look into his eyes and see him as no one had ever seen him before, and to let him see her as no one had ever seen _her_ before. Something about rushing headlong into "things" seemed somehow wrong, though; foolhardy, even, as was rushing into injecting herself with _Zyclandizo._ She had a habit, she had come to realize, of being impatient. Children her age were not often in a rush, as lazy afternoons lasted forever and the concept of yesterday vs tomorrow was still hazy. She, of course, was not an average child, and was all too aware of how short time really was. She would rush things sometimes with disastrous results - all of those laboratory explosions happened not because she was prone to mistakes, but because she was prone to hurrying and getting sloppy. She did not want to do the same thing with Lincoln.

Human relationships are based on a gradual progression. As she thought earlier, there was indeed a solid foundation on which she and Lincoln could potentially build, but that is all it was, a foundation. Rome, as the kids say, was not built in a day, and neither, for that matter, was Akron, Ohio. Sex - the total giving of one's self, and the total reception of the one you love - seemed somehow, and she hated to use this word, sacred, not something that it done at the onset but much later, after you've given yourself, and taken in turn, everything else. Sex, you could say, was like sealing the deal.

Or maybe she was delirious from all of the chemical she'd pumped into her body recently. It was rather difficult to tell. She had never felt this way before and had never contemplated these matters - for once in her young life, she was out of her element, fumbling blindly like a girl in the dark. In all aspects of the matter at hand, come to think of it - from the philosophical to the pragmatic. She stole a clandestine glance at Lori, a drowning girl finding the lifeguard but too reticent to call for help because of an earlier transgression. _Lifeguards are all homosexuals or airhead jocks who peaked in high school. I will never require your assistance._ She had, at least temporarily, burned her bridges, as it were - only to need use of them.

So it goes.

Sigh.

She spooned a measure of sugar onto the grapefruit and took a sip of orange juice, noting the way Leni flinched as though she were going for a gun. She sighed and looked up at her sisters, her eyes flicking momentarily to the empty spot so recently occupied by her older brother. None of them looked at her - in fact, they did their best to look at anything _but_ her. Did she really cause that much trauma with her outbursts? They acted as though she were a monster, and to be quite honest, it hurt.

Then again, she deserved it, for did she not spend a good amount of her time looking down her nose at them? Did she not think of them as cliched and flat? Her verbalizing this may have been prompted by chemically enhanced moodiness, but the thoughts behind her words were not - they had been with her for longer than she cared to remember.

With the suddenness of a loud report in vacuum silence, it struck her just how _wrong_ she was to look at them that way, and to think such thoughts. These people were her family, for Christ's sake, and though she often felt alienated from them, they had always been there when she needed them. To cluck her tongue at who they were as human beings, to dismiss their hobbies and passions out of hand as contrived, was repugnant, especially given the fact that they had always supported her, even if, she suspected, they felt as alienated from her as she did from them.

In short, she felt terrible.

"I would like to apologize for my behavior over the past forty-eight hours," she said, the words coming hard and her eyes going to the center of the table, unable to meet the gazes turning in her direction. "I was...I was not myself, and I did not mean to snap at you the way I did." She forced herself to look at Lori, who watched her with a knowing expression. Lincoln must have gone back on his word to not tell. Just as well. "Lori, you have always been a...a positive figure in my life, and you absolutely did not deserve my objurgation."

She turned to Luna next. "Luna, you have been nothing but kind to me, and encouraging as well, and it was abominable of me to say the things I did. I'm deeply sorry." Tears welled in her eyes and she was surprised to find herself on the verge of a break down. "I'm an awful sister." She squeezed her eyes closed and fought back the urge to weep, opening them again only when a hand fell on her shoulder. She looked up to find all of her sisters clustered around her, their expressions varying shades of forgiveness.

Lori squeezed her shoulder. "No, you're not, Lise. Everyone has bad moods." She looked down in contrition. "I pop off too."

"You never completely savaged one of us, though," Lisa said. "I...I did."

Lori opened her mouth to reply, then shrugged her shoulder in acquiescence. "Maybe not, but yesterday I punched Luan in the back of her head."

On Lisa's other side, Luan nodded. "Yep, she got me good. I literally saw stars."

"And I busted Lincoln's nose," Lynn said, shame evident in her voice. "I, uh, I made him _bleed_ , Lise. You didn't do that to Lori or Luna."

"Lana bit me," Lucy put in. She tilted her head to one side, bearing her neck, and pulled down the collar of her dress; Lisa winced at the purple bruise on Lucy's pallid flesh.

From her station beside her twin, Lana hummed. "You hit me in my boob. And it _really_ hurt."

Before Lucy could speak, Lori said, "Not as bad as being hit by a giant group of people and having my hand bent back. It happens, though." She looked pointedly at Lisa and offered her a warm smile. "No one holds it against you."

"Nah, man, you're fine," Luna said and affectionately ruffled Lisa's hair.

When everyone leaned in and hugged her at once, Lisa realized just how precious her family was, and vowed, in that moment, to be a better sister to them all.

Later, in her lab, she sat before her computer and crossed her legs, her elbow propped on the arm and her chin resting in her upturned palm. She felt still "warm and fuzzy" from the recent group hug, but now, alone, she was beginning to dwell on Lincoln and her chances with him, or lack thereof. Her original plan was to seek Lori's advice, but she'd reached the conclusion that while her older sister certainly had more experience, her, Lisa's, situation was beyond the scope of anything Lori could suggest. Lisa envisioned the meeting thus:

 _Lori, a word, please_.

 _Certainly, Lisa, how may I assist you?_

 _There is a boy with whom I am enamored, and I wish to endear myself to him romantically. Being four years of age, I am unfamiliar with the customs and proper etiquette in such matters, and was hoping you could perhaps advise me._ Notice that she did not mention the two most important factors of her dilemma: That this "boy" was a great dealer older than her _and_ her brother as well.

 _Of course, Lisa. If you wish to attract this boy's attention, you must…_

That's where she stopped. The point was: Her situation was unique and the general rules of courtship did not apply. Earlier, she considered and rejected the idea of talking to Lincoln forthrightly, but she was again entertaining it, and finding it the most sensible approach. She was not one for pageantry; we all have our strong suits, and that simply was not hers. It would be better, she reckoned, to get it out in the open, to clearly and concisely express her feelings (in "no uncertain terms") so that Lincoln knew exactly what he was dealing with. There was, of course, the possibility that he would be aghast and spurn her advances. That chance existed no matter her approach - better to just get it out of the way than work at walking a certain way, or wearing certain clothes, and having it happen anyway.

She shifted positions and stared at her liquidy reflection in the screen. Hearing it whole and unvarnished, Lincoln would be able to fully digest the matter and then, hopefully, to reach a favorable conclusion. Even if he reached a non favorable one, it would be a well-informed decision made with all of the facts at hand rather than some...game of cat and mouse fraught with uncertainty and innuendo.

The last she knew, Lincoln was in his quarters playing his video game console; the optimal time, then, to pull him aside was now - neither had prior engagements, as far as she was aware, and doing it now would eliminate any suspense she would feel if forced to pick a later time. She made no move to get up, however. She was not given to nerves, but right now, she was honestly wrought with them, a twisting, spinning, _clawing_ mixture of dread, hope, anticipation, and fear. The moment she opened her mouth to him, the ball would be set rolling and there would be no undoing it; her brother would know how she felt and he would either accept her or reject her. Right now, she had hope, but if he reacted poorly and chose not to engage her, she would have only the knowledge that something so beautiful and precious, something she wanted with soul-clutching intensity, was denied her, just like normalcy and peace of mind were denied her.

In a way, she didn't even want to chance it - better to dream and pine from afar than to be dunked in the brisk, needling water of reality.

No, that was _not_ better - that was akin to saying it would be better to exist in a world where polio ran rampant rather than trying and failing to create a cure.

Deciding on a stay of execution, she logged onto her computer and checked her email, finding a message from Julia Carpenter of Horlicks University regarding a telecommunications presentation that Lisa had agreed to conduct in November - it was canceled now, apparently. Something to do with a crate and a raft. Lisa was not particularly looking forward to it anyway.

Next, she checked the news, even going so far as to scan the sports section even though she didn't know the difference between a dribble and a forward pass. She was fully aware that she was procrastinating, putting off the inevitable, but she was anxious over Lincoln's response to her coming confession. If she tarried much longer, she'd come up with a convincing excuse to put it off, then, when the hour drew nigh again, she'd most likely find another, then another still.

A sound at the window arrested her attention, and she gave herself fully to the distraction, getting up and going over. In the backyard, Lynn and Lana tossed a football back and forth, the younger girl nailing her throws but missing every pass. Lola sat at a pink plastic table and held court with a gaggle of stuffed animals who listened to her no doubt braggadocious pontificating with expressions of indifference. Lucy sat nearby with her back against the trunk of a tree and a book open in her lap. It was a bright morning and warm for September, with a light westerly breeze redolent of earth - a perfect day to enjoy the outdoors if one is so inclined.

Lisa was not.

Neither was Lincoln, for that matter. His pursuits, like hers, were largely solitary. Unlike their sisters, save, perhaps, for Lucy, he was capable of, and even happy _to,_ keep his own company; that was something Lisa appreciated - being able to make one's own amusement was a sign of intelligence.

It is claimed that one hemisphere of one's brain is more dominant than the other, each one having its own traits and characteristics. For example, someone who is said to be left-brained is more logical, detail-oriented, numerical, and analytical while the right-brained are more creative, free-thinking, and better equipped to "see the big picture." Lisa was left-brained and Lincoln was right. Looking at it fancifully, it was as though they were two halves of the same whole, and, indeed, even completed each other.

A tiny smile touched her lips as she turned away from the window and shuffled back to her desk. They were a lot alike in many ways, and different in others - they compared and contrasted perfectly with each other, like two puzzle pieces.

Her stomach fluttered sickly.

Thoughts of him were like quickstand, the longer she was mired in them, the deeper she sank, and the more she fought, the _faster_ she sank. Sitting in the chair, she pointed her eyes at the computer screen and steepled her fingers against the tip of her nose, trying but failing to alight upon another topic. In her mind as in her heart, Lincoln held sway.

Alright, damn it, enough.

She got to her feet and went to the door, her hand falling onto the knob and hesitating. She was afraid of being hurt...she was afraid of being rejected...she was afraid of many things as she stood on the precipice of professing her feelings. She was afraid, above all that, that her indecision would lead her to ultimately forsake her current course of action _without knowing that he felt similarly._ Or was at least open to persuasion.

It was for that reason that she opened the door and went to him.

* * *

Lincoln frowned at the TV screen: a car lay on its roof in the middle of a city street, its engine block spitting fire. He tapped the X button, but his character's seatbelt was caught and -

 _BOOM!_

DEAD, SON, flashed across the screen as the camera pulled back and the scene faded. He always imagined that that effect was the POV of his character's soul as it floated off to heaven. Which, come to think of it, didn't make much sense, considering that right before dying he ran down a pedestrian, shot a law enforcement officer in the face, and bludgeoned a hooker to death with a crowbar and stole her money - _after_ paying her for sex.

If he was going anywhere, it wasn't to glory.

Presently, he sighed and dropped the controller onto the floor. Usually, he got so into _Steal That Car: Capital City_ that he'd get up to pee only to - oh, wow, six hours sure goes fast, huh? Today, however, he just couldn't; he'd go on half-hearted killing sprees and wind up being killed by the police when his mind drifted.

To Lisa.

He spent a _lot_ of time thinking about yesterday and struggling against the weirdo feelings stirring in his stomach. He remembered the sadness in her eyes and the trembling quality of her voice, the pain she displayed, and the more he did, the more he wanted to march into her room, pick her up, and hug her close.

Then kiss her.

On the forehead! Not, you know, on the lips, but...he didn't know and he was getting really burned out on it. He just wanted to cause havoc in the city and _maybe_ complete a mission or two. Is that so much to ask?

When his avatar appeared outside the local hospital, Lincoln sighed, picked up the controller, and nvigated him down the stairs toward the street. He wasn't lying when he said Lisa was unique, she was, like a rare flower, and knowing that she didn't like being who she was bothered him more and more with each passing moment. He understood her feelings - he wasn't isolated the way she was, but sometimes he _did_ feel like an outsider, and like he just didn't fit. He had ten sisters, after all, and sometimes it was easy to see them as a monolith, a hive-minded _one_ (The Sisters, or The Girls). His very gender put him on the outs with the other - the bodywash thing, for example. The whole house and everything in it was girl-oriented because they were the majority and in a big family, like in a democratic nation, majority rules. It wasn't something anyone did intentionally - his sisters picked on him as they did each other, but they never purposely made him feel like a misfit. In fact, they always made sure to include him in their activities, and he never once got the impression that they looked at him as anything but on of them...family, his sex notwithstanding.

Even so, he _did_ have the occasional feeling of _otherness_ , and could relate to Lisa. Hers must be far, far worse, though, and as he meditated on the matter, he began to feel worse and worse for her. She was locked in her own mind, a veritable prisoner, and isolated from the others by her very nature. And not just her family, but everyone else as well. At least Lincoln had friends who liked the the same things - Lisa's only friend was a little girl who enjoyed none of the same activities as her. In fact, you could point to Lisa's befriending her in the first place and say that it was a desperate attempt by a lonely little girl to establish a connection with someone.

That was sad.

 _Really_ fucking sad.

So sad it brought tears to Lincoln's eyes.

She shouldn't have to feel like that, she shouldn't have to wish she was someone else.

In that moment, he keenly wished that he was a super genius like her so that she could have someone to relate to, but he wasn't, he was -

 _HONK!_

A speeding truck hit his character from the left, knocking him to the ground and crushing him beneath its tires.

DEAD, SON.

Lincoln blew a puff of air and dropped the controller again. This wasn't working out. Sorry, _Steal That Car: Capital City,_ it's not you, it's me. You can have the house and the boat, I'll take the car and the kids. Does that sound good to you?

Getting up, he went over to the X-Station 9000, bent, and pressed the POWER button - the screen went dark and the console's humming cut out like throwing a switch. He put his hands on his hips and stared absently down at it. Well...what now? Part of him wanted to go to Lisa, but another part wanted to _not_ because...you know what? Fuck it, he was thinking about her in a way that he shouldn't, and it was bothering the shit out of him. An image flashed across his mind and he grimaced: Him holding Lisa in his arms, kissing the back of her neck, and whispering words of love and understanding.

Ugh.

Kind of fucked if you asked him.

More than kind of.

With a sigh, he wheeled around and went back to the bed, sitting and raking his hands through his hair. He just...he didn't know, he wanted to make -

That thought cut off when someone knocked on the door. "Yeah?" he called and looked up. It opened and Lisa slipped in- his heart jerked like the legs of a dead frog when you prod it with a live wire, and his stomach dropped to his feet. Stay away from me...I'm unclean!

And my thoughts are double-plus-ungood (yeah...he lied when he said he didn't read _1984_ ).

Instead of going away like he half-hoped, she closed the door behind her and fixed him with a firm and determined gaze. The slight twitching of her left eyelid betrayed her nerves - it was a tic that he'd observed in the past, one that came with the same frequency as a blue moon. When you saw it, you knew she was in a heightened state of passion - angry, anxious, or upset. In fact, it twitched yesterday, now that he thought of it.

For a moment, they stared at each other like two gunslingers across a dusty street, then Lisa took a shallow breath. "I need to speak with you," she said, "about a matter of great import."

Lincoln waited to see if she would continue, and when she didn't, he gestured jerkily to the spot beside him. "S-Sure, yeah, cop a...cop a squat." He forced a smile that felt strange and cumbersome on his lips.

She hesitated, then came over, her expression straining with each step and her eye twitching faster. She sat, back ramrod straight, and laid her hands in her lap. They faced forward, and Lincoln caught sight of their reflections in the TV screen - their faces were set in almost identical ways. They both looked uncomfortable, uneasy, and...something else he couldn't name. Hopeful?

 _God, Linc, hopeful for_ what?

He stole a sidelong glance at Lisa, and his heart jolted when he found her already looking at him in her periphery. She turned to face him, and her eyes flickered to the patch of bed between them - no more than six inches, so close he could extend his pinkie and brush the side of her leg. "As you know, I injected myself with a drug that stimulated my pituitary gland; my body was flooded with hormones that led me to become irritable, overly emotional, and that briefly kick started my menstrual cycle." She paused, then continued when Lincoln nodded. "I was, after a fashion, experiencing puberty. Something that you yourself are going through, correct?"

Lincoln didn't quite understand where she was going or what she was driving at, but he nodded anyway

"One of the...symptoms, as it were, of puberty, as you can understand, is an increase in...the production of hormones related to sexual development and to sex drive."

Yes, it was. "Yeah,' he said. He felt only a _little_ awkward; it _was_ a natural function, after all, like taking a healthy dump.

Lisa nodded. "I experienced that as well. Primarily yesterday morning and afternoon." She paused, then looked up at him with stormy eyes. When she continued, it was haltingly. "My desires centered on...they centered on _you_ , Lincoln."

The air seemed to leave the room in a rush, and Lincoln's eyes widened. Lisa apparently didn't like what she saw, and looked at the bed again. "I watched you and Lynn in the backyard, and I became very aroused at your shirtlessness...and by the way the sun glistened on your sweat-sheened torso, and by…" she shook her head, "you understand."

Lincoln tried to speak but his vocal cords wouldn't work. She thought about him...like that? His heart started to race at the image of her staring down at him, her cheeks flush and a hazy smile on her face.

"During my emotional breakdown , when you held me in your arms, I...I felt somewhat aroused, but more...I felt _good_. I felt...loved and understood. I felt closer to you than I have ever been to anyone else in my life, and I very much enjoyed it." She broke off and laid her hand on the bed, a hair's breadth separating it from his. "It's not entirely rational, but, Lincoln, I...I believe that I am in love with you."

The words hung heavy in the air between them; Lincoln's nervous system was going haywire, his mind racing and his entire being in turmoil, thoughts and emotions flashing past so rapidly that he couldn't seize on a single one. Lisa lifted her head and favored him with anxious eyes.

All at once, his stomach knotted, and he was finally able to reach out and capture a feeling like a dangling wire.

Tentatively, unsurely, he laid his hand on the back of Lisa's and stared at them, unable to yet meet her eyes. She drew a sharp, startled breath through her teeth and looked at him. "I've been feeling kind of...kind of similar," he admitted. "I don't...I don't know what exactly, but...it's something I don't think I ought to feel." He flicked his eyes to her, and a sly smile played at the corners of her lips.

"You're an amazing man, Lincoln, and what you feel is not, as others might suggest, unseemly, neither because I am your sister or because of my age. As I'm sure you know, I am far older in mind than in body." She stopped and tilted her head to one side as if taking mental inventory of herself. "I no longer feel the primal urge to copulate, but I am desirous of enjoying the intimacy that comes along with it. Would you...like to make love to me?"

Lincoln's jaw dropped.

She was right that in mind, and heart, she was beyond her years - beyond even _his_ years - but she was still only four, and while Lincoln found her beautiful...he couldn't. "L-Let's wait on that," he said and offered her a smile, then added a half-lie to soften the blow, "I'm not really ready for _that_."

Lisa considered for a moment, then let out a breath. "Honestly, I'm not sure if I myself am even ready. For the physical aspect, that is."

Lincoln weaved his fingers through hers and squeezed, giving her a reassuring smile. "Would you like to cuddle instead?"

Her ghost-of-a-smile turned into a full-blown smile, and her face positively glowed. "Yes, I would like that very much."

Pulling away from her, Lincoln stretched out on his side, and she curled up against him, her butt pressing against his stomach and her fragrant hair in his face. He draped one arm over her hip, slipped the other between her and the mattress, and held her close. She felt good in his arms, _right,_ and a contented smile skipped across his lips.

"This is nice," she said after a while.

"Yes it is," he said, and kissed the back of her head. "H-How do you feel? Otherwise?"

She didn't immediately reply. "In regards to my mental and emotional state?"

"Yes."

She tilted her head back, and her hair tickled his nose. "Good," she said. "I feel very good."

That made Lincoln smile. "Good." He pecked the back of her neck. "I love you, Lise."

"And I love you, Lincoln."

Comfortable in each other's arms, they both drifted to sleep.

* * *

 **And with that, I have shipped Lincoln with every sister at canon age (and in a setting and set-up that is close to the one seen in the show) except for Lily. Some sisters have multiple different ships (Lynn with Spar and Luan with the "Come With Me" series), but I only consider certain stories (and their sequels) to be part of the "first ship" series (and I plan to write sequels for the ones that don't have them). They are:**

 **A Crush on Their Brother (series, Luancoln)**

 **Falling in the Forest (series, Lynncoln)**

 **From the Wreckage (Lunacoln)**

 **Dark as Night (series, Lucycoln)**

 **The Bestest Brother Ever (Lenicoln)**

 **Drunk on You (Loricoln)**

 **Nasty Girl (series, Lanacoln)**

 **Pageant of Hearts (Lolacoln)**

 **All of those are alike in many respects because, in essence, I was trying to write basically the same story with different sisters. The stories weren't meant to be identical, mind you, but they all were, at their heart, meant to tell the same fundamental story: How Lincoln began his relationship with [insert sister]. They were intended to serve as a jumping off point for sequels investigating the actual relationship itself (many of them do have a second or even third part). There were points where they got a little samey, I think, but only because I was, subconsciously, again, telling the same story but under different circumstances.**

 **I am writing a Lilycoln story at the moment, but because it is farther removed from canon by its very nature (the characters are aged up), it will be a complete story in of itself that may spawn a sequel but is not intended to show just the beginning of their relationship but the whole thing. I hope you enjoyed these stories as much as I enjoyed writing them. I think that, aside from oneshots, Reeling in the Years, and possibly A House Divided, I won't post anything else for the rest of the month. My plan is to publish the first chapter of my next big story, Pedophile, in January. I hope to see you there.**


End file.
